Last Stand
by Mirrordance
Summary: Concluded! The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath.
1. Wild Horses

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

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IMPORTANT NOTES

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On the timeline.  The story operates in movie-verse, though it assumes some book details that the movie did not tackle, like Estel being raised by Lord Elrond, and when he finds out about his lineage (in 2951).  Other than these assumptions, the events unfold a few days after the movie-set crowning in Minas Tirith, and then tosses back and forth in time with memories.

On the structure.  The structure follows one big story arc or theme, peppered by short stories in between, like Tolkien's "Lost Tales…" or if you've read "1001 Arabian Nights" or, "Borders of Infinity" by Lois McMaster Bujold.

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Wild Horses

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Rohan

3019

* * *

      The purple skies seemed to be shivering over his head, shaking, shifting, dancing with the demands of a whipping wind that promised the fall of harsh rain.  Lightning streaked across the dull gray, and after a few beats, the sound of the grumbling, displeased thunder seemed to shake the Earth.

      Eomer smiled, as he watched the wild mare prance across the rolling plains, as if a terrible storm was not threatening its peace, as if it was grazing in the light of a perfect day.

      "Sire, we must leave."

      It was his aide. Lenne was an irreverent young fellow with perpetually-unruly sandy hair and lonely eyes.  He does everything from dressing the King, to packing his things and generally accompanying him everywhere he went.  He was efficient _when_ he needed to be, and Eomer kept him around as a favor to his widowed mother, who desperately desired for a son to be in the King's service.  Mostly, Lenne did all the worrying for the illustrious King, and over most of his jobs, he did it the best of all.  

      "The horse shall run away with the first drops of the rain either way," Lenne urged him, "Leave it.  Sire.  It is not worth getting struck by lightning out here in the plains, my lord.  It really does not bode well, for so young a King to die in such an unfortunate manner."

      Eomer waved at him, to keep him quiet.  The pair of them were upon their stomachs on the ground behind a gently sloping hill, hiding and watching the wild, claret-colored stallion.  

      "It is undaunted by the threat of the storm," Eomer said in a low voice, "It is spirited, and will make a fine addition to my stables."

      Eomer rose quietly, and sauntered toward his own horse, grazing just at the foot of the hill and happily awaiting its master.  Lenne hurried to his feet and followed after the King.

      The wild mare's head perked at the sudden movement, wrinkled its nose at the intruders and neighed, just as it reared up on its strong hind legs and shot forward at a speed to rival the lightning and the wind it seemed to defy.

      "Lenne!" Eomer snapped in displeasure, as he hurriedly mounted his horse and urged it forward.

      "I'm sorry, my lord!" Lenne exclaimed, breathlessly, hurrying to follow the King upon his own steed, "I'm sorry!"

      Gritting his teeth in displeasure, Eomer rode in hard pursuit.  The horse beneath him, however, seemed to be enjoying the chase-- its powerful hooves crashing against the ground in beats that sounded like a fervent heart.  The wind was making both horse and master feel so distinctly alive.

      "That steed shall be ours," Eomer whispered to his horse as he rode low against its thick, warm neck.  The desire to claim so beautiful and bold a creature was one as old as his line, as old as his blood.  One of his hands released the reins of his horse to draw out a rope from the pack attached to his saddle, though his eyes never strayed from his quarry.

      The rain began to fall about him, thick beads slow and sporadic at first, and then harsher, in innumerable, slim white lines that streaked across the air, connecting heaven and earth.

      He blinked and narrowed his eyes to keep his vision clear.  He pulled back the soaked strands of his hair, away from his face.  

      _That steed shall be ours_…

      He was narrowing the distance.  The horse was but a shadow in the dark of the stormy skies and the obstruction of the thick rain.  It ran, and swerved, and moved most majestically, un-cowed by the torrent, fearless of its pursuer.

      Suddenly, Eomer was made aware of another shadow in the dim light and amidst the curtain of the rainfall.  A cloaked figure stood amidst the plains, standing directly in the way of the wild horse the King of Rohan was pursuing.

      "Move away!" Eomer called out in a panic.  That wild horse knew no master, or restraint.  The fool standing there could be _mauled_ to his death!

      "Move away!" Eomer said again, willing his horse faster, perhaps if he caught the horse, perhaps he could restrain it… But there was no time…

      To his astonishment, the wild horse shifted its course just-so, missing the cloaked figure by a hair.  From the folds of the dark, water-soaked cloak of this foolish stranger, a graceful white-hand drew out and touched the side of the wild horse from its neck to its flank, as it passed by.  The horse let him, before it thundered away at a greater speed.

      Catching his breath, Eomer let his quarry go, for now.  He slowed his horse down to a trot, nursing his temper.  He was angry, yes, that this cursed fool would risk his death and hold his ground.  But he was more jealous, of this stranger whom the wild horse meant to be _his_ seemed to favor.

      "Are you trying to kill yourself?" Eomer retorted to him, dismounting before the stranger.

      Those distinctly beautiful hands rose up to the edges of the hood of his cloak and pulled it away from his face.  Eomer blinked at the sight of an old ally.

      Legolas the elven prince and warrior, was smiling at him tentatively.  His blue eyes were a light in the midst of the storm, his golden hair reminiscent of the sun, even as it was soaked through and through and matted to his head. 

      He bowed before the King of Rohan, a hand over his heart as he stooped slightly in respectful greeting.

      "Legolas," Eomer said, finding his voice at last.  He bowed slightly too, for the old ally was a prince himself.  

      "I suppose I should be asking you the same thing," Legolas said to him.

      "Hm?" Eomer inquired, forgetting what he was referring to.

      "If you are trying to kill yourself," Legolas clarified, "'Tis not just the threat of the lightning, but the rain, and the more delicate built of a human.  I've heard of the phrase… 'You might catch your death of cold.'"

      "I am hardly delicate," Eomer replied tersely, looking after the direction in which the horse ran with some regret, "Is it yours?"

      "No," Legolas answered, "I'm sorry to have spoiled your hunt."

      "My lord!" Lenne exclaimed, coming up towards them upon his horse, "I'm so sorry."  
      "I suppose you can say it's long been spoiled," Eomer said to the elf wryly.

      Lenne dismounted, and stopped to stare at Legolas.  "Oh, my lord.  I know his face.  The people could never forget that Legolas of the Woodland Realm fought for us."

      "Then greet him properly at the least, fool," Eomer grated at the boy, "Your father is turning over in his grave."

      "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, bowing hurriedly before Legolas, "My lord.  If I may ask… what business have you in our fair lands?"

      Eomer frowned at the insolence, but bit his tongue and looked at Legolas expectantly.

      Legolas seemed to ponder the question for a moment.  "Traveling," he answered tentatively, before he smiled and shook his head, saying, "Would it surprise you if I said I'm not entirely sure?"

      "We've had our share of wanderers," Eomer said, "It is hardly new although… I would not have expected it of you."

      "Ah well," Legolas breathed, "You know what they say.  Not all who wander are lost."

      "So you inadvertently find yourself here, though you know to where you are ultimately going," Eomer guessed.

      "Yes," Legolas replied.

      "You speak like a wizard," Eomer commented, and Legolas had the distinct feeling it wasn't exactly a good thing.

      "I'm just a traveler," Legolas said.

      "I suppose you meant to pass through my lands without even thinking of having an audience with me," Eomer said flatly.

      "I suppose," Legolas replied, chuckling a little in embarrassment, "I'm sorry.  I did not even think I would be by this way."

      "Well we are both here and you are soaked to the skin," Eomer declared, "You will have to suffer my company, in my hall.  Before a fire.  I will not let you leave otherwise."

      Legolas looked about him, the storm, the beautiful plains… but he was cold, and he was very tired.  His mind was weary, and so was his heart.  The offer was a welcoming one.

      "Thank you," he said to the King, "It sounds splendid."

      "Good," Eomer said with a nod, "Did you travel on foot?"

      "My horse is off…" Legolas looked about him, "Somewhere.  I think I've gone further than I thought.  I left him grazing some strides back."

      Eomer hauled himself up to his seat, and offered his hand to Legolas.  "Come.  I shall take you, and we can ride to Edoras together."

      Legolas took the King's proffered assistance.  Eomer's hands were rough, warrior's hands, warm and sturdy.  Or perhaps his were just so terribly cold.  He sat before the King, and they moved forward in a comfortable pace.

      "I recall this route, my lord," Lenne said to Legolas as he rode beside them, "Plains, and hills and rocks.  There is a cliff nearby too, isn't there? I remember, we traveled this road towards Helm's Deep not too long ago.  You would not have known I was there, but we all knew of Legolas, who rode with King Theoden and the heir of Isildur.  We were attacked here."

      "Aye," Legoloas affirmed quietly, "This is that road."  
      "We thought we had lost Lord Aragorn," Lenne explained to Eomer, "You were not here, sire."  
      "Of which I am acutely aware," Eomer muttered to the boy, "But I am desperately wishing that _you_ are not here _right now_."

      He felt Legolas' shoulders shake as he laughed in front of him.  But the elven prince thankfully kept his mouth shut.

* * *

      The horse was a curiously old, unglamorous spotted gray.  He had black hair and deep, doe eyes.  The warrior and horse-master deeply ingrained into Eomer could not help but wince.  

      "That is not Arod," he commented, for lack of a better thing to say.  The horse was sure on his feet, at least, and seemed not to mind the rain.  And why should he? He seemed only to have a care for the grass in his mouth.

      "No, it is not," Legolas smiled, "That is Butter."

      "Butter," Eomer repeated flatly, "is his name."

      "Butter," Legolas affirmed, and the horse looked up at its elven master.  There was some sprite to him yet, and he abandoned its grassy patch in favor of a petting.  Legolas reached forward and indulged him, touching his nose.

      "Where on Earth did you find that beast?" Eomer asked.

      "I bought it from an old drifter," Legolas replied, "Practically for nothing."

      "You are probably more saddled than benefited by it," Eomer pointed out, "That horse is on its last legs, mark my word.  I shall give you a new one for the rest of your journey."

      "It has quite a few leagues to it yet," Legolas assured Eomer, "It will do what it must, and it will take me where I ought to be."

      The elf murmured something to the horse in his own language, before explaining to Eomer, "Arod is very dear to me, and he has carried us through the direst of straits, for which I am still vastly grateful to you.  But I decided to yield him to Gimli.  The dwarf has trouble with horses as it is, and I did not have the heart to deprive him of this one beast with whom he seems to get along with."  Legolas chuckled to himself, "Do not mention that to him, though.  He doesn't know.  He thought he won Arod over a game of cards.  He is actually very pleased with himself."

      "The dwarf was always by you, somewhere," Eomer commented as Legolas mounted his steed, "Why are you traveling alone? The roads are still unsafe."

      "I've places to go where he cannot and _must not_ trail," Legolas answered, "An inevitability, I'm afraid, for all beings, to tread the world alone."

      "Yes," said Eomer, "but not unnecessarily."

      "Ah," nodded Legolas, "Yes.  Of course.  This situation in particular makes it _very_ necessary to travel thus."

      Eomer's brows furrowed, "Some trouble in the land?"

      "Not particularly," Legolas replied, drawing his hood over his face again, "I would greatly appreciate if we kept my presence in Edoras a secret for awhile."

      "You've nothing to fear of my discretion, of course," said Eomer, "But 'tis a small city.  Your presence will eventually be known, lest you wish to keep your face hidden for the entirety of your stay."

      "I merely meant not to be announced in a public way," Legolas clarified.

      "As you wish," Eomer replied, looking at his young aide pointedly.  Lenne seemed disappointed.  "You have something to say?" he asked the boy in his most kingly way, the words lined by the menace of _you'd better not_.

      "Nothing my lord," Lenne gulped, "It's just that… well the people would have been thrilled and honored to have the elf warrior back, that's all.  We'd have given him a right good welcome."

      "We all have our reasons," Eomer said coolly, and Legolas glanced at the King from the corner of his eye as they traveled towards the capital city of Rohan.  _That_ statement was lined by its own determined Kingly menace of _I will discover yours later_.

* * *

      He was staring at the bed with such fierce longing for innumerable moments before he caught himself, and blinked at the ridiculousness of the situation.

      "My lord?"

      Legolas faced the servant boy, forgetting he was even there at all, and offered him a reassuring smile.

      "Will the quarters do?" Lenne asked.

      "They are perfect," he replied, "As they always have been.  Thank you for your hospitality."  

      Lenne nodded, and strode toward one of the elaborate room's ornate wooden cabinets.  

      "This room once belonged to the King himself," Lenne shared as he drew out some tunics, robes and towels for Legolas to use, "King Eomer, that is, before he ascended to the throne.  These clothes were his, and you may use them until your own are cleaned and dried."

      He placed the garments on top of the bed, and stepped toward Legolas with every intention of helping him dress.

      "I do not require a valet," Legolas chuckled, "You may leave to attend to your master."

      Lenne smiled at him and nodded, "As you wish, my lord," he said, turning his attention now towards working the fireplace.  He finished quickly, his hands well-used to the routine.  He rose with a flourish and dusted his hands upon his pants, saying, "Welcome back to Rohan, my lord.  The King expects you for dinner in a pair of hours."    

      Legolas watched the boy leave and close the door behind him.  That at least left him time for some rest.  He stepped towards the fire, and wearily plopped down to the ground in front of it.  The warmth was addictive, and comforting.  It was lulling him into a sleep much-needed and much-deserved, even if it was not particularly welcomed.

      He folded his legs, and hugged his knees to his chest, resting his forehead over them.  He was plagued by a menace of a headache, one that has been hovering over him for so long he thought (_unfortunately wrongly) _that perhaps he only needed to get used to it.

      He coughed once, and shakily recovered his breath.  He desperately needed the rest and yet he did not want it.  There would be a_ whole_ lot of time for rest later.  Why rush?

      Sighing, he lifted his head, as his trembling hands reached to unlace his boots.  He tossed them next to the fire, and his cloak and outer-most tunics quickly followed.  The billowy white of his undershirt now clung to his wet skin, pressing against the red-stained bandages that still liberally adorned his body.  The once-white cloths that bound his left arm from wrist to elbow was soaked through with rainwater and his blood, as was those that held his right shoulder and wound around his waist.

      _It's looking better_, he managed to lie to himself, except he knew very well that these were wounds were as old as a fortnight.  They did not bleed profusely, or, perhaps it was better to say they no longer did, after he sewed shut cuts that he normally would have just allowed to heal with time, after realizing they will not do so on their own.  But the aid of the stitches without the wounds closing and the blood clotting was still distinctly troublesome.  The precious red fluid still trickled from his weary body in amounts that would have been trivial if he had not been so vexed by this strange malady for weeks on end.  Nevertheless, infection was yet to set in and at least in this respect, he still counted himself amongst the vastly lucky.

      Wincing, he rose to his bare feet and sauntered toward his traveling pack.  Its contents were no-less soaked than he, and he glanced at the door in suspicion, before he drew out the wet strips of bandages from inside it and hung them over the fireplace mantle to dry.

      _This is a mistake_, he thought fleetingly, _I should not be here_.  It was only a matter of time before the charade was broke and lost, and his secret was discovered.  

      And yet he could clearly see the pounding rain from his window, and the world outside seemed profoundly unwelcome against the warmth of this room.

      _I will leave when the sun shines_, he decided.

      He sat in front of the fireplace again, languishing in the radiant heat.  He stared at the fire, and wondered what his friends might be doing at this very instant.

      Just days after a glorious victory… what would he have done, if he wasn't so incapacitated? He'd have taken up the dwarf's invitation to explore the Glittering Caves, and shown Gimli a thing or two himself about forests.  Or perhaps he'd have stayed in Minas Tirith a bit longer.  The city was beautiful, and the spirit of victory, and the grand return of their long-lost child, Aragorn son of Arathorn, hung heavily and welcomingly upon the air.  Perhaps he'd have gone home, to Mirkwood, to his father.  And yet here he was, of all places.  In Edoras.  And with Eomer.  _Of all people_…

      The man, he reflected, was _more_ than decent enough.  Eomer did not suffer fools gladly, and was an honorable and fearless warrior with considerable skill.  He was vastly intelligent, and wise beyond his years.  It is here that their similarities ended.  Legolas knew little of Eomer outside of being the staunchest of allies in a battle.  He couldn't say they were friends.  He couldn't recall if they ever shared a meal.  Or shared in laughter.  He did not dislike the King of Rohan, that was certain.  He just didn't particularly _like_ him, and it was strange how life threw them together in this manner, at this time.

      Naturally he wished he was elsewhere.  With Gimli, perhaps, who made detestable caves a curiosity to him, and even journeys toward deadly battles an amusement.  And with Aragorn of course, his spirit-brother, with his pair of kind, teasing eyes.  Aragorn to him was like a rock.  He never wavered.  That strength was like a light, it called and appealed, and he often felt all the lesser for not having it near to him… As he did now.  But times were different and upon this light he could no longer indulge, lest he infringe upon it and dim it with his own impending darkness.  He would be the pall to the King of Gondor's happiness, he knew, if he stubbornly remained with him.

      He smiled a little, at the thought of Aragorn and his wife.  Arwen will make him happy.  They will have beautiful children, and a stunning kingdom to raise them in.  He will not storm that paradise and mar it, as surely as his heart once was marred by the loss of those whom he loved.

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS to all who took the time to read.  This piece is going to be a leap for me… it's kind of experimental.  I have made about seven chapters or so but I've been hesitant to post for a lot of reasons… (including the lack of a title… I woke up this morning and suddenly just thought of it) Anyway, c&c's always welcome.  'til the next post!!!

THANKS.  Btw, super thank you to all who read and reviewed the recently concluded "Exile" trilogy.  You're all so wonderful :)


	2. Finding Estel: A Memory

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

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2: Finding Estel: A Memory I

* * *

_Rivendell__, 2938_

* * *

      It was not altogether an unfamiliar malady, at least to Legolas, who's had it before.  

      Almost eight decades ago, weeks after the death of the Queen and a prince of Mirkwood from an orc-ambush, the King Thranduil was also faced with the possibility of losing his youngest son.

_      An envoy of Mirkwood aides and soldiers made a party of twelve, escorting the ailing prince to Imladris and Lord Elrond's care, which was the best in all the land, and his refuge the most peaceful.  The Prince was deathly pale, and though he stubbornly remained on his feet, led the way and actively refused aid, his hands trembled, and he was profoundly weary._

_      Legolas had been there the day his mother and older brother, as well as a number of his friends were killed.  He left the field with a hit to the head that was not fatal, but shook his vision and threatened his balance.  The accompanying headache was an incapacitating scourge, and blood seeped from a cut upon his forehead.  It was not altogether such a bad injury… he's had tons worse before.  But few of them who had been in that group survived, and it was he who had lost the most.  The sight of his friends, his mother and brother's crumpled, bloodied, lifeless bodies was a spear through to his heart._

_      As surely as the orcs had killed them, they too were killing the young Prince slowly in his resulting grief.  The weeks pressed on and his wounds refused to heal.  The healers in Mirkwood thought perhaps it was a poison they've never seen before.  But other elven soldiers were injured in the melee and mended well.  There seemed no other reason other than it was Legolas' heart that was the most aggrieved.  And strong and stern though he seemed, it was a heart that was quickly failing._

_      Estel had been seven years of age at the time of Legolas' arrival in Imladris.  Much was in the Prince's mind, and so he probably did not even see the dark-haired, sprightly human boy who had looked on in awe as the Mirkwood entourage was led into the halls of Elrond's house.  The curious adan trailed the party through to a guest room—not one of the sparse rooms in the Houses of Healing, he noted—and was set to step inside and watch the proceedings when he felt the touch of his older brother upon his shoulder._

_      ~Go to your room, Estel,~ Elladan urged him, ~__Ada__ will be very busy for the next few hours.~_

_      ~But I wish to see,~ Estel argued._

_      ~The Prince is very ill,~ Elladan told him, ~He will not appreciate being a mere curiosity to you.~_

_      ~But elves don't get ill,~ Estel pointed out._

_      ~Oh that's just a rumor Elrohir started,~ Elladan said with a slight smile; his adoptive brother was getting too clever too soon, ~Off with you now.~_

_      ~'Dan…~_

_      ~I will have none of that,~ Elladan told him sternly, ~You're on the tail end of a flu yourself.  Father will not be pleased at all to see you about.  As a matter of fact… did I not hear him confine you to bed?~_

_      ~He did, but,~ Estel's eyes lit, ~I didn't think he would scold me when we had guests.  I was right.~_

_      ~You really shouldn't be very proud of that,~ Elladan sighed._

_      ~Elrohir said you've both done the same before,~ Estel confided._

_      ~Well he shouldn't be so proud of it either,~ Elladan told him, smiling helplessly.  Sometimes, he felt as if he was trying to help rear a pair of seven-year-olds rather than just one._

_      ~Will I get to meet him?~ Estel asked, ~The Prince, I mean? There's a prince in our house, 'Dan! I've read things about Mirkwood in the libraries, about the mighty King Thranduil, about spiders and things.  I have questions.  Will I get to?~_

_      ~If you're good,~ Elladan promised._

_      ~But you always say that,~ Estel pointed out, ~And then I never get what I want.~_

_      ~But do you ever follow?~ Elladan argued, pausing as he awaited a reply.  None came._

_      ~I didn't think so,~ Elladan concluded, ~To bed, Estel, I mean it.~  The older elf walked into the guest room and closed the door behind him.  Estel trudged toward his own quarters.  He would follow, for now._

_* * *_

_      Estel was, of course, seven years old.  And he lived in a vast palace adorned by secret ways and magical things.  And he had an insatiable spirit that could not be contained by wall and roof.  Which was, in his mind, really reason enough to deem all the mischief he did as merely natural._

_      Elrond had come by to bid him good night and see if he was still ill.  The Lord of Imladris was confident of his youngest son's recovery, yes, though not particularly of his good behavior._

_      ~I've been told you were out today,~ Elrond told him evenly, sitting by his elbow on the bed._

_      ~Just to stretch my legs and get some air,~ Estel said quickly._

_      ~It is cold out, Estel,~ Elrond sighed, ~The built of an adan is not so sturdy, have I not explained this to you numerous times? You are still slightly ill, you are courting a relapse.~_

_      ~I'm sorry, ada,~ Estel said._

_      ~Apologize only when you mean it,~ Elrond told him tiredly, expecting him to say sorry again.  The hideously honest child didn't, and this made him smile, for some reason._

_      ~Good night, Estel,~ Elrond said lovingly to his adopted son, leaning over and kissing him upon his still-fever-warmed forehead._

_      ~Good night, ada.~_

_      He sank into his covers and meant to sleep, he really did.  But it seemed he'd been lying there for hours and hours after his father left, with his mind wide awake.  Sighing, he kicked off his covers and slipped on his robe over his sleeping garments.  He glanced at the door to the main halls, and then at his cabinet, where he knew a much-explored secret passageway lay hidden.  _

_      He supposed, since he was wide awake anyway (not that he did it on purpose!), he might as well drop by the library and refresh his mind about Mirkwood.  Its Prince was inside his house! And he had just a ton of questions.  He will be quick, for sure.  __Ada__, he probably wouldn't mind since the Lord of Imladris always made it a point to emphasize the importance of the… the… what had Elrohir said? The pursuit of a good education.  He might even be proud!_

_      But Estel grabbed an oil lamp and slipped into the secret passageway instead of the main door in case… well, in case ada felt otherwise._

_* * *_

_      Legolas' eyes snapped open at the sound of strange and subtle creaking.  His heart began to pound, aggravating a headache that was already much to deal with to begin with._

_      He held his breath… perhaps it was a healer.  They came and went and had their way with him all hours of the day and night.  But when the wall before him shifted, he wondered if the head injury was getting the best of him at last.  Was he losing his mind? Was he dying?_

_      A small head popped into his room.  It was a pale, pleasant face with wide, intelligent silver eyes, framed by mad dark brown whorls and waves of hair.  He blinked at the stranger, then narrowed his eyes in irritation at the intrusion._

_      The boy—an adan!, he belatedly noted with some surprise—seemed as shocked as he._

_      ~I'm sorry,~ the boy said quickly, in a loud whisper, ~I thought I took a wrong turn somewhere.~ he raised up an unlit oil lamp, ~It died, see.  I was on my way to the library.~_

_      ~I'm afraid you are in the wrong place,~ Legolas told him, the melodious voice shaking with the severity of his pain.  It was as subtle as he could make it, but the boy was smart, and he stepped forward with a frown._

_      ~Why are you ill?~ the boy asked, ~You are an elf, are you not?~_

_      ~If I could stop it, I would,~ Legolas replied, his voice tinged with some bitterness, a bitterness that he loathed but somehow kept reappearing.  The boy took no offense._

_      ~I'm Estel,~ he said, and the name made the elf's brows raised._

_      ~Is that what you are,~ Legolas murmured, and there was some helpless disbelief in his tone of voice.  Hope came to him in the still of the lonely night.  He felt sore, and weak, and so desperately angry.  They do not expressly say so, but everyone thinks he is dying.  And this tike of a boy comes bearing hope.  The very idea was laughable._

_      ~I know,~ Estel sighed, amusingly melodramatic as if he was aged by the burden of his name, ~I wish I were Lucky instead.~_

_      The boy walked toward Legolas and sat at the edge of his bed.  Legolas' brow arched at the intrusion, but he said nothing of it.  The distraction was almost a welcome one.  Almost.  But not quite._

_      ~Do you have every single kind of tree in the world in Mirkwood?~ Estel asked._

_      ~I don't think so,~ Legolas answered._

_      ~But it's so big,~ Estel pointed out, ~I know how big it is.  I've seen a map.  I know maps by heart.~_

_      ~If you do not believe me,~ Legolas sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, trying to relieve the throbbing ache there, ~Why do you bother to ask?~_

_      ~Elladan always says that,~ Estel frowned, ~I don't know.  Older people are supposed to know and I sometimes think I know more.~_

_      ~I can see that,~ Legolas muttered, before saying louder, ~Did you not have somewhere else to go?~_

      Someone else to bother?

_      ~Oh yes,~ the young boy stood up, bearing his useless oil lamp.  Legolas glanced at it, came to a strange decision and reached for the one upon his own night stand._

_      ~Here,~ he offered the adan, ~Trade.~_

_      ~You won't use it?~ Estel asked._

_      ~Some of us choose to sleep,~ Legolas told him as the pair made an exchange, ~Although I might suggest you use the common way rather than that secret one.~_

_      ~I can't,~ Estel said, testing the lamp Legolas gave him, ~I'm supposed to be in bed with the flu.~_

_      ~I want that lamp back,~ Legolas said tiredly.  The blasted boy was now making him an accomplice!_

_      ~Whether or not you give it,~ said Estel, walking towards the shifting wall from which he came, ~I will be passing by this way anyway.  So you really might as well.~_

_      Legolas frowned at him with displeasure._

_      ~I would really appreciate it if you didn't tell ada or anybody,~ Estel said, pausing midway, ~I mean, I would really appreciate it.~_

_      ~I can't see why I shouldn't,~ Legolas said._

_      ~If you give me your word,~ said Estel, ~I promise I will not get in trouble.  I promise I'll go straight to my room.~_

_      His head was pounding.  And this crazy adan was bothering him with his trivialities.  ~You have my word,~ he said tersely, drilling the tips of his fingers against his temples, ~Please just go.~_

_      The boy looked at him worriedly, then nodded and walked away._

_      Legolas watched him leave.  The wall shifted back in place.  The night suddenly seemed quieter and darker without him there._

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESPECIALLY TO MY REVIEWERS: Kristen, silvertongue, jenihenpen, MSL, elessar*lover, jopru, susan, chris, tychen, arayelle lynn, wadeva, sodalite, red, unni, lady of the twilight woods, itsuki tachibana, farflung, platy, AM, hobbit killer, starlit hope, kelsey, LOTRfaith and deana.

To jenihenpen: the reunion is not likely to happen, I'm sorry :) at present, the muses are pushing the fic into a place where I cannot see it happening, but we will always want it to :) like I said before (I think in my fic preview which I posted with the last part of my previous project), with the medium being the message and everything.  The character is always longing for something he cannot get.  And hopefully, if I manage to convey all the ideas right, so would we :)

To msl: sure, no prob :) I think the depiction of him as secretive and prideful is not one that is very strange, haha.  Oh well.  Angsty indeed :)  

To tychen: haha, yes, butter.  You've read my fics before so I guess you can tell I have a penchant for weird quirky little details and the fat old horse was one I could not resist putting in :)

To sodalite: it's a work in process at nine chapters as of today :) I can foresee about five more or so :) kinda long, hehe :) I did not think it would be when I started writing it :)

To platy: oh my! I totally missed that one :) thank you, hehe :) there is just one horse, I promise :) 

To Kelsey: thanks for the information :) this is something I will check up on more :)

Why does no one believe I'm actually going to kill him? Haha.  Oh well.  We'll see :) 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	3. Finding Estel: A Memory continued

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

3: Finding Estel: A Memory II

* * *

_Rivendell__, 2938_

* * *

_      He woke to the morning with Elrond's face hovering over him.  The Lord of Imladris had a lined, worried expression about him as he looked over the Prince, and stilled it only when his eyes drifted to his patient's face and realized that he was awake._

_      ~Good morning, Legolas,~ he greeted the younger elf with a quick smile, ~The sun has been up for hours waiting for you.~_

_      ~I slept late,~ Legolas replied, tempted to retort that one of the House's strangest guests was the cause for his trouble.  But the world was spinning, and he was too weary to be clever.  He licked his lips, and suffered the indignity of the examination._

_      ~You sleep with eyes closed,~ Elrond murmured to him, ~And you have trouble waking.  I am worried, Legolas.  I'm going to send for your father.~_

_      ~He is busy with far greater things,~ Legolas said quickly, ~Please do not bother, my lord.  He doesn't have the time, or the luxury.  The King should not risk the peril of travel here for my sake.  The people cannot lose him in times so dark.~_

_      ~I cannot remain silent of these worries,~ Elrond said, even as he knew that Legolas' considerations were worth thought._

_      ~It will pass,~ Legolas lied._

_      ~I've seen this kind of deterioration once before,~ Elrond told him quietly, ~I know what it means.  Your ada must know as well.~_

_      ~We made unregretful goodbyes,~ Legolas told him, ~We've never let things go unsaid.  Let things unfold as they will, my lord.  But spare him the road here.~_

_      Elrond simply frowned, and raised one of the Prince's cold hands and felt for the irregular pulse upon his wrist.  ~You're too cold,~ Elrond murmured._

_      ~I'm not uncomfortable,~ Legolas assured him quietly, averting his gaze in embarrassment, ~Thank you for having me.  I'm sorry for the vast inconvenience.  I would not have come, if it was not to ease the worries of my already-much-burdened father.~_

_      ~It is not an inconvenience,~ Elrond guaranteed him, ~I desperately wish for you to get well.  Or if not…~ he hesitated, ~Perhaps you wish to sail beyond the sea.  It is a remedy that has worked for… others.~_

_      ~Your wife, my lord,~ Legolas said softly, after a moment of thought, ~I've heard of her.  I am very sorry.~_

_      ~They broke her body,~ Elrond said, trying to keep his tone even, though there was a harshness to his voice that he could not deny, ~But more than that, I detest that heartbroken defeat I see in _your_ eyes, it reminds me of her last goodbyes.  And we all know how that story ends.~_

_      Celebrian's wounds were poisoned and did not heal.  She suffered them for quite awhile before she went over the sea.  Such a story elves from the world over were well-aware of._

_      ~I'm sorry,~ Legolas said again, after a moment._

_      ~It's not your fault,~ Elrond said, belatedly, ~It is just the despicable parts of this world that seek to destroy things that are beautiful.  You have a stout heart, I know it.  But we can only weather so much and I know… I know you've weathered much.  I can never know what she felt and saw, just as I can never know how greatly your heart breaks such that it wishes to still.  But I do understand that no one is invulnerable, Legolas.  As tough as our bodies may be, the spirit remains our greatest weapon and all at once our greatest liability.  The shedding of our tears are as lethal as the spilling of our blood.~_

_      He placed Legolas' hand down, and patted it reassuringly, ~This can still go both ways, Legolas.  I will not tell you to be strong, because I know even the mightiest of us fall if their hearts were broke.  I will tell you to be hopeful.~_

_      Legolas breathed deeply, and pushed himself up to sit.  Elrond managed to restrain himself from offering aid, but watched the elf prince carefully, ready to assist at any troubled moment.  Legolas managed to lean against the elaborate headboard without incident._

_      ~To be strong is easier,~ the elf-prince said wryly, courting a smile from the older elf._

_      ~You can try them both,~ Elrond said._

_      Legolas turned his head toward the door, hearing approaching and urgent steps from outside a beat before the Lord of Imladris._

_      ~Enter,~ Elrond commanded._

_      It was one of his twin sons.  Which one in particular, Legolas was unsure.  He watched the worried eyes of the handsome elf seek his father's._

_      ~__Ada__,~__ Elrohir said, ~I still cannot find Estel.~_

_      Legolas sat up straighter.  Fantastic, he thought miserably, wondering if he should believe he actually had anything to do with that…_

_      ~Excuse me,~ Elrond said to the prince, patting his hand one more time before rising in a flurry of robes and following his son out the door._

_      Legolas stared at the wall before him, the one the urchin of a boy used to enter his room the night before.  It shifted again and he held his breath, awaiting the infernal boy's head to peer out at him.  This time, however, it really was the head injury, for the entire room was shifting._

_      He gulped down on the familiar sensation of nausea.  His hand shook as he reached toward the night stand, using it to brace himself as he struggled to stand.  He successfully got to his feet, and the world swayed and tilted, white lights exploding along the corners of his vision as he struggled for breath and balance._

      I needed to walk anyway_, he reasoned as he took his first steps forward since the yesterday, when he arrived and settled on what was admittedly quickly becoming his deathbed._

_      He glanced behind him at the wrinkled, white silk sheets.  It was calling him back, looking very inviting and warm with the sun playing with its light and shadows.  Instead, he grabbed his robes and put them over his sleeping clothes._

_      His hands reached for the wall, and felt along its length for any sort of curious latch or knob.  His searching took him to the front of an aged mirror, and he glowered at the sight of himself.  _

I look like a corpse_, he thought with displeasure, _And I know very well how corpses look.

_      His mother, his brother, his friends… a crumpled heap of blood and mud and tangled white limbs folded most unnaturally…_

_      He shook his head in dismay, and consciously ran trembling fingers over his face.  It unfortunately did not do much for his dark-rimmed eyes and hollowed cheeks.  _

      I'm going to find that blasted boy and he's going to think I'm a ghoul_, he decided._

_      He pulled back his hair, and noted with dissatisfaction that the old cut on the side of his forehead was still trickling blood, which ran in his hair and down the lines of his jaw._

Mother once told me I was beautiful_, he remembered, just as he remembered hating it.  He was young and brash, head full of stories of heroes and legends.  He once claimed he wanted a scar, maybe two.  Nothing too terrible, just some little ones that made him look brave.  She laughed at him, and said again that he was very beautiful._

Not anymore_, he sighed, turning away from the mirror and resuming his search.  He reached the end of the wall finding nothing to open up the secret way.  He glanced at the door to his room, wondering if he should just tell someone of the night before, recalling grimly that he gave his word to the boy, to keep his hideous little secret.  _

But its not fair_, he thought miserably, _It was practically coercion.  And I was not in the proper frame of mind to come to a fair and binding decision…

_      He could imagine his father shaking his head and clicking his tongue in dismay.  _You should never give your word lightly, Legolas…__

_      He missed his ada.  Nevertheless, word given and irrecoverable.  He could do nothing else but press forward.  The mirror caught his eye again, and he stepped toward it, refraining from looking  at his face and instead concentrating on the ornate frame._

_      It was made of spun iron, here and there encrusted by pearls and colored stones in a pattern reminiscent of an intricate garden.  The mirror was built into the wall, and he frowned in thought._

_      His fingers brushed against the carvings, and there he found the latch he'd been looking for.  The wall shifted aside with a quiet rumble.  He glanced inside, and found a long, narrow winding walkway.  _

_      ~Estel?~ he called out tentatively, not particularly willing to step inside, particularly since it was dark and he had yielded his lamp to that crazy adan._

_      ~Estel!~ he called out again, and was met with no reply.  He ran a hand over his face.  The air in the secret way was dank, and he was having trouble staying on his feet as it was.  _

_      ~I am going to kill you when I find you,~ he muttered under his breath, stepping inside.  His walking was shaky at best, and though the narrow space was uncomfortable, at least the walls were close together and he could brace his hands against them as he moved forward._

_      He kept the secret door behind him open; it was dark enough as it was, and he had no plans of getting hopelessly lost here.  Besides, he promised Estel he would not tell anyone.  If they saw the open wall, then the Household can figure out the situation for themselves._

_      He soon came to a crossroads.  To go straight? To turn left? To turn right? Or to cease playing the fool and simply turn back? _

_      ~Estel?~ he called, and just as he was convincing himself that either the boy was dead or probably not there, he heard a quiet shuffling down the left hall.  _

_      He frowned, and took a deep breath that seemed entirely too inadequate.  It was this space… he hated narrow spaces.  He loved air and sky, and stars and horizons that stretched into infinity.  It was also probably this infernal disease that was taking him to his death.  But he pressed forward, because he was needed, and because there really was little else to do._

_      He found the boy crumpled to the ground, a tangle of robes and limbs and abandoned intentions… For a terrible moment the world stopped and tilted._

      His mother, his brother… a crumpled heap of blood and mud and tangled white limbs folded most unnaturally…

_      He fell to a knee, and his hand trembled with more than his bodily hurts as he reached to touch the boy._

Warm_, he realized with relief, before the more rational side of him deduced that to be this kind of warm was not altogether such a great thing.  The child said he was running a fever.  Looks like it caught up with him at last._

At least you're alive_, he thought, sending a quiet prayer up to the gods.  Near the boy's head, he found his lamp.  He shook his head in dismay._

_      ~Estel,~ he said, shaking the sleeping child's shoulders, ~Estel, wake.  You've picked the worst place to take a nap.~_

_      The adan groaned and mumbled something incomprehensible, before his silver-gray eyes opened and blearily settled upon the elf._

_      ~What are you doing here?~ he asked Legolas incredulously._

_      ~I should be asking you the same,~ Legolas replied evenly._

_      ~I got dizzy,~ Estel answered, ~I just rested awhile.~_

_      ~It's morning,~ Legolas told him flatly, ~And your house is turned upside down in search of you.~_

_      ~I'm in trouble,~ he concluded, shooting up to a sitting position.  He moved too quickly for his weakened young body and he tilted in dizziness, eyes wide in confused surprise.  He broke into a cold sweat, even though his body raged with a fever._

_      Legolas laid both hands upon his shoulders to keep him still.  ~Grab the lamp, will you?~ he ordered the child, who complied and felt for it in the dark.  Estel lit it, and looked at the elf with wounded eyes._

_      ~They are going to flay me alive,~ he mumbled miserably._

_      ~Yes, they are,~ Legolas replied, not in the mood to be particularly reassuring, ~But you are ill, and therefore will likely have a respite.~_

_      ~That's kind of good,~ Estel said, his eyes lighting up somewhat, though they were clouding and tiring quickly._

_      ~Keep your hands on the lamp,~ Legolas told him, as the elf picked him up and carried him in his arms, ~I don't want it to fall on my foot, or to clatter to the ground and trip us.~_

_      ~I can walk,~ Estel protested, though Legolas noted with some amusement that he did little else.  So he said nothing, and retraced his steps back to his room._

_      The boy was fast asleep by the time they got there, and Legolas lowered him to the bed, vastly relieved of the burden.  Normally, it should not have been an inconvenience.  But his body was trembling with the exertion, and he was profoundly thankful that the journey back was not any longer, or they'd have both ended up on the ground and missing._

_      Wearily, he closed the passageway, then trudged to the door of his room.  A pair of Mirkwood guards stepped toward him in alarm._

_      ~My lord!~ they exclaimed, ~You should not be--~_

_      He raised a hand to halt the well-meaning protests.  ~Please summon Lord Elrond for me.~_

_      ~Are you well?~ asked one soldier, alarmed, ~Can we be of any assistance?~_

_      ~No, please,~ Legolas said, ~Please just get Lord Elrond for me.  Tell him I found Estel.~_

_* * *_

_      Lord Elrond stormed into the room with his twin sons and a vast entourage of personnel that he sent away upon sight of his youngest son sleeping peacefully upon the Prince of Mirkwood's borrowed bed._

_      He sighed in relief, and sat beside Estel's arm, touching his face reverently._

_      ~A relapse,~ the Lord of Imladris muttered to himself, ~Oh, he will hear from me when he wakes.~_

_      Elrond looked up at his sons, and then at Legolas who was standing in a corner of the room, leaning heavily against the walls.  His legs were trembling and just unreliable at best, and he was held up by their support.  Elrond scowled at him._

_      ~I'm sorry but I cannot explain,~ Legolas said to his host apologetically, his strained voice shaking, ~You must ask him when he wakes.~_

_      ~It is not over this that I am displeased,~ Elrond told him, rising and standing before him.  Legolas flinched at the scrutiny._

_      ~Take my little rebel of a son to his room,~ Elrond said to his twins, his eyes never wavering from Legolas', ~Make sure he stays there, tie him to the post if you must.~_

_      ~A wise recourse,~ Legolas murmured, looking beyond Lord Elrond's shoulder as the twins took Estel away and closed the doors behind them.  _

_      Elrond took Legolas' face in his hands, and the Mirkwood elf saw that the Lord of Imladris had that pained what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you expression._

_      ~I cannot explain,~ Legolas said again, his voice now more notably shaky in the emptied and quiet room._

_      ~No one has ever been able to explain Estel so I do not bother to ponder it,~ Elrond sighed, ~Why are you on your feet?~_

_      ~I found myself in a situation I could remedy,~ Legolas said mildly, ~It was a minor inconvenience, and the least I could do for your House, given your graciousness and hospitality.~_

_      Lord Elrond pulled his hands away, and found one streaked with blood.  He looked at them dispassionately, ~Your wounds refuse to heal.  You need as much rest as you can get.~_

_      ~I'm in no rush--,~ Legolas said, and cut himself off just as he thought to consider precisely what that implied.  No rush to rest, for death was quickly claiming him and thereafter he could surely rest for an eternity._

_      Elrond took him by the elbow, and held some of his weight as he stepped away from his corner, ~To bed now.~_

_      Legolas stepped forward, sweat beading upon his brow.  The walls were shifting.  The whole blasted room was tilting.  He stumbled and took the both of them to the floor._

_      ~I'm sorry,~ he said to the Lord of Imladris blearily._

_      ~It's all right,~ Elrond murmured to the younger elf helplessly, pulling him to a warming embrace as he drifted to unconsciousness.  The last things he heard before the blackness completely claimed him was Lord Elrond calling for help._

_* * *_

_      The Prince's eyes fluttered open to find the room almost as dark as the world beneath the lids of his tired eyes.  He felt as if he was deep underwater, where everything was dark and unclear.  The barest sounds of the night was a resonating, lingering and over-loud oppression.  He was acutely aware of every inadequate breath, and there was a weight over his entire body that restrained his movements._

_      It was night, he noted, and a dim light was actually gracing the room somewhere to his left.  He turned hungrily towards it, defying the throbbing pangs across his head the movement was costing him._

_      As his eyes rove through the room, he found the wall across from his bed was open, and therefore he was not surprised when his eye fell on the precocious seven-year-old adan sitting on a weathered chair placed close to the left side of the bed._

      What do you want now?_ He wondered, watching the oblivious boy for a quiet moment.  Estel fit snugly into the padded old chair, his knees curled up beneath him.  He was dwarfed by the size of the gigantic and ancient atlas he was leafing through.  The silver of his intelligent eyes burned through the pages._

_      ~What--~ Legolas began, and cut himself off at the surprisingly weak and strangled sound of his voice.  He cleared his throat as the boy's head shot up to look at him.  ~What are you doing here?~_

_      Estel closed his book, and leaned over toward the ailing elf.  ~I forgot to ask you your name.~_

_      ~That's why you're here?~ Legolas asked wanly._

_      ~No, no,~ Estel chuckled at him, as if he was being ridiculous, ~Of course not.  I suppose I just suddenly wondered.~_

_      ~I'm Legolas,~ the Prince replied, too tired to argue, ~What are you doing here?~_

_      ~You've been asleep for two days,~ Estel replied, ~I didn't think you would mind the company.  I sure could use some.  No one has seen me in hours and hours and hours!~_

_      Legolas was perplexed to notice that the boy was right; his body ached, but he…, well, _he didn't mind_.  It was almost a relief, to be speaking with someone of things that didn't weigh so heavily._

_      ~I'm supposed to be stuck in my room too,~ Estel said glumly._

_      ~Still sick?~ Legolas asked, alarmed.  The fool has been gracing the blasted secret ways again and he was seriously asking for trouble!_

_      ~Oh, no,~ replied Estel, ~It's my punishment this time.  But, well.  They could hardly board up the secret ways, could they? They are means of escape in case of terrible situations after all.~_

_      ~Your _ada_ said he could have you tied to a post,~ Legolas informed him, ~He was very worried about you, I was tempted to tell him where you were.~_

_      ~I'm pleased you stood by your word,~ the intelligent boy nodded at him royally, as if his approval was a blessing!_

_      ~It was clever and unfair of you to have wrought it from me,~ Legolas chided him, ~I was in an ailing state of mind.~_

_      ~I think it evens out the game,~ Estel told him, ~You are, after all, much bigger and much older than me.~_

_      Legolas almost laughed, but the sensation flew from him as his vision blurred into specks of colors and indistinct lines.  He heard the furious thudding of his heart, and the feeling of drowning and fading was mind-blanking and encompassing.  _

_      Estel watched in alarm as reason and awareness vanished from his newfound friend's eyes.  The elf's chest rose laboriously with a shuddering breath, and his brows furrowed furiously with his pain.  His face was flushed with a low fever, and the blood from the side of his head soaked the pillows.  Estel had almost grown used to the sight of that unclosing wound, but now that it actually looked as if the Elven prince was dying and not merely asleep, it lent a new brand of menace._

_      ~I'll get _ada_,~__ Estel said to Legolas urgently._

_      Legolas' hand blindly reached out to him, and Estel caught it hesitantly.  The elf's fingers were so deathly cold…_

_      ~Please,~ Legolas whispered, ~He can offer me no relief.  This is better.  Quieter.  Less trouble.  It will end.  I could just go to sleep.~_

_      His words were not making proper sense, but Estel was distinctly aware of what it meant.  The elf before him was dying._

_      Legolas' grip slackened, embarrassed at the intimacy and perceived intrusion of the contact, but the boy reclaimed his hand and kept it._

_      ~They said your heart was broken,~ Estel told him nervously, ~Because you lost those whom you loved, and your heart seeks to follow them.  They say you're dying because your heart is broken… It's like a fairy tale.~_

_      The boy's words swirled around him like a haunting dream.  He was fading, he was drifting away, and the chatter was warming, so he listened._

_      ~But this is life,~ Estel said, his words quickening with his fears, ~It's supposed to be different.  Or I want some other fairy tale to come true instead.  Like the wooden boy who became a man.  You think there could be some man who turns into an elf? I want to be an elf.  I want to live forever.  Because I'm not an elf.  I suppose it's really very plain to see.  Or I do not know, maybe you hadn't noticed.  You do not seem… much aware…~_

_      He hesitated and bit his lip, his warm grip tightening about the elf's fingers, ~I wish you would live.  Because I have questions.~_

_      The elf's eyes drifted close.  Estel leaned in closer, near to his face.  Legolas' expression slackened and relaxed as he fell into a deep sleep, though he could still hear the words dancing across his distorted and fading reality._

_      ~I wish you would live,~ Estel said again, ~Because I think I like you.  You talk to me like a big person.  Like I'm as big as you.  Or maybe you're just really particularly surly to everybody.  I don't know.  But I want to know.~_

_      His nervousness was making him digress, tossing him from one thought to another.  ~You know Lord Elrond is not my real _ada_?~__ he asked the unresponsive elf, ~I wondered why I had different ears.  My real one is dead.  But Lord Elrond is good to me.  His wife left. His heart was broken too, like mine.  But two broken hearts equal to one full one.  It's not so bad.  I know your heart is broken, but I can give you some of mine, and then some of Elladan's, and some of Elrohir's and some of _Ada's_.  Or we can steal them if they refuse.  We'll all make a big full one yet.  It's not so bad.  You'll see.  You'll see when you wake up.~_

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ :)

THANKS ESPECIALLY TO MY REVIEWERS: tychen, silvertongue, unni, msl, lady of the twilight woods, sodalite, ladyjanelly, amy, gozilla, obsidian raven, crystal rose, kelsey, faeliel, elessar*lover, angelmouse5, platy, elveneyes, sundiata, Kirsten, starlit hope, deana, lotrfaith, and halandleg4ever.

To unni: it's not at AU… at least not until the end of the war of the ring.  After that, the story totally diverges from the book as to what happens to legolas :)

To msl: the first flashback is just to set a precedent that the malady has happened to him before.  The flashbacks maybe by the 15th part or so will be detailing how he got the malady _this_ time around.  Sorry to confuse :) I wanted to pepper the big story arc with short little stories that are memories :) like, a big reflection on life before one dies.  so far, that is what these flashbacks are for.  

To lady of the twilight woods: yup, this is totally different from my previous trilogy of exile-escape-return.  This is something else altogether :)

To faeliel: oh wow, thank you :) your first review… thanks for taking the time to write one for me :) I hope the rest of this fic will not disappoint :)

To elessar*lover: oh I want to kiss them too! I have an idea… you take estel, I'll take legolas, haha.

To platy: oh no, I haven't been killing anyone behind your back, haha :) the reason for the hopelessness and the resurgence of the malady will be revealed in the flashbacks to come (probably by my 15th post).  In the meantime, these are just meant to create a scenario and establish the foundation of a friendship :)

To Kirsten: I'm glad you like my depiction of legolas.  The character is so well-loved it's always a gamble to write him, especially in ways that may diverge from the conventional.  I suppose I really do find his ultimate loneliness as a big tragedy in the making.  Which is why I find I always write about it :) I like depicting him as more complex because of that, and a bit colder, just waiting to be thawed.  I don't know.  It may feel right by me, but I'm always afraid if it would be regarded as too far off the mark.  I'm glad you don't think so and thank you for saying so :)

To starlit hope: he won't be sailing :) the memory is before the war of the ring :) and I want him to stay here, haha.

To lotrfaith: in the flashback, he lost his mother, a brother and some friends.  In the 'present' timeline (3019) he hasn't lost anyone yet but he fears it so greatly.  The reasons for the malady will be made more clear later along the length of the fic :)

I HOPE YOU GUYS AREN'T CONFUSED :) Everything in italics are flashbacks or memories.  The dates are also important details, at least in following assumptions from the book :)  

BTW, I hope you are not minding my 'colder' Legolas-Aragorn interaction… I thought I'd try and make them more reserved; it is very hard to have fast and true friends in actuality, I think.  But that reserve will change with time.  I guess I wanted to try this tack.  My other friendship stories progressed very quickly because of the context of their situation (like they have to work together).  Placed in a calmer setting, with no immediate dangers creating the necessity of trust, I wanted to see what I could do with them :)

Anyway, THANKS AGAIN and 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	4. Strange Friends

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

4: Strange Friends

* * *

Rohan

3019

* * *

      Estel had been right then, just as he'd been right about a whole lot of things since.  Legolas thereafter woke with the rising of the sun, and found his wounds on the mend.  The seven-year-old _adan_ was asleep over his folded arms next to the bed, and still had a desperate grasp upon the hand of his new elven friend.  How silly it was, to have the fool of a boy as an inspiration, possibly even an _anchor_, in the world of the living.  The things he said just seemed to touch Legolas' hungry heart.

      Smiling sleepily, Legolas woke him up, and told him to go back to his room before Lord Elrond saw him.  The boy grinned at him, his child's heart knowing things were well at last, and he expected no less than that.

* * *

      Legolas sighed at the memory, watching the fire that danced before him.  And so he carried a piece of Estel's heart since, a part he admittedly did not know what to do with, now.  

      Estel helped heal him then, of that he was sure.  The _adan_ lent him strength and hope.  But the same love and caring that sustained him years ago was killing him now with all of his well-founded fears of losing it.  

      He desperately feared to lose Estel as he lost his mother, as he lost his brother, as he lost a lot of his kin to the war.  Circumstances along the length of their journey through the War of the Ring created these possibilities constantly, but he remained strong and resolute, in order to prevent Estel's death as much as he could.  

      Now, post-war… he knew that there were things written in the stars and far beyond him.  Estel will die, he was simply _made_ that way.  Legolas could do nothing about it but wait.  There was no orc to fell, no enemy to slay.  He could do nothing but wait, and watch.  

      His old sickness returned with a vengeance, alongside the refreshed grievances of his heart.  The wounds would not heal.  He was very slowly and very completely bleeding to his death.

      Why did he have to find an anchor in life that was so ephemeral? Could he not instead love say… a rock, or something which lasts longer than a life so easily extinguishable? He was _theoretically_ an immortal, threatened only by a broken heart.  Did the damn _thing_ have to love so much and so completely that it would kill him to lose?

      He reached for the bandages he hung before the fire.  They were thankfully dry by now, and he worked with replacing the rain and blood-soaked bandages that he presently wore.

      Gathering his strength, he raised himself to his feet and slipped into the fresh robes he'd been given.  He felt warm and dry, and inexplicably drowsy… or maybe not so _inexplicable_, he decided.  He's lost much blood, it really shouldn't have been a mystery…

      He sat upon the bed, almost experimentally.

      _Soft_, he thought, almost _salivating_ at the idea of lying down upon it ensconced in blankets.

      He let himself fall against the soft mattress sideways.  He had time, he figured, for just a small nap before meeting the King of Rohan for dinner.

* * *

      "Do you not know that a King waits for no one?" Eomer greeted him good-naturedly as he hurriedly stepped into the dinning hall.

      "I'm sorry," Legolas said breathlessly, "I—"

      "I was kidding," Eomer told him lightly, waving away his worries.  He watched thoughtfully as the elf regained his composure and walked toward his place more calmly.  "You know, I'm quite flattered, actually.  I've never seen you so rushed or harried.  It didn't take the horde of Saruman to do so, it did not take the servants of Sauron.  It was _me_."

      "I do not like being impolite," Legolas said with a small smile as he slid to his seat, at the King's right.  Eomer sat at the head of the table.

      "I did not think so," Eomer chuckled, motioning for the spread of food before them, "Eat.  Elves are made entirely too thin.  Scrawny.  Especially you."

      Legolas laughed, surprised.  "Scrawny?"

      "It was a hyperbole," Eomer said wryly, and though he meant to kid, he looked upon the weary elf with refreshed eyes.  Legolas was paler than he remembered, and he did not think that was even _possible_.  The pasty white of his skin shed its old resonating glow, looking dulled and sickly, rather than ethereal.  He was, indeed, thinner.  His cheeks were hallowed, and his eyes were dark-rimmed.  And though these things did not preclude him from being as notably beautiful as before, there was something different about his gaze, as if some light had faded.  This saddened Eomer in a way that he could not understand.

      "I'm not the only one who doesn't eat," Legolas said suddenly.

      Eomer blinked at him.  "Excuse me?"

      "You've been looking at me as if I've died," Legolas told him dryly, "Eat your food, sire."

      "I was not," Eomer said, turning to his attention upon hearty meal with gusto.

      "You've prepared entirely too much," Legolas told him, picking on his food.  He was not hungry.  He was weary, and put the daintiest pieces in his mouth only out of diplomacy.

      "Don't think it's for you," Eomer chuckled, "All this is for me."

      Legolas smiled upon his plate, and then looked up at Eomer with a wistful expression on his face.  "Your heart is much lighter."

      Eomer mulled over the statement.  "I suppose.  The broader threats have been eliminated.  Our eyes must now turn to the lesser dangers of the South and the East.  But I no longer feel so alone.  Blood may yet be spilt, it may even be my own, or that of my countrymen's.  But these hardships will surely be weathered, with _our_ side emerging at the top."

      "You are so certain," Legolas commented.

      "The men have found their captain," Eomer said, "My sister worded these most perfectly." He chuckled, "I regret to say she hadn't exactly been referring to me."

      "It looks to me that the Lady has a partiality for the men of Gondor," Legolas teased.

      "So it seems," Eomer conceded, smiling, "I do not disapprove.  She is there still, enjoying the company of her _other _heroic Gondor fellow."

      "Who certainly enjoys her in turn," Legolas pointed out, "She is very spirited, and very beautiful.  Her heart is a wonder to behold."

      Eomer's brows raised, "Should I read anything into that?"

      "No," chuckled Legolas, "The words convey only what they mean.  These are compliments freely given."

      "She will be flattered to receive such favor from the elven kind," Eomer said, blinking in remembrance, "Which raises another question.  I suppose I never really knew… are you married?"

      "Not to my father's great regret," Legolas laughed, imagining the mighty King of Mirkwood aching to chase after a bevy of grandchildren, "But I am a very proud uncle.  And I am a good one."

      "Last I saw you before this was Elessar's crowning in Minas Tirith," said Eomer, "You left in a hurry and I wondered if perhaps you fled back to your home."

      "I considered it," Legolas replied, "But it should have to wait some other time."

      Eomer stared at him through slit, perceptive eyes, "Until you finish whatever it is you have set out here to do, I presume."

      "Yes," Legolas replied, reaching for a drink of wine, "And no.  Home will wait until I've finished my business.  But this is business that was not meant for conclusion in Rohan.  I did say I was simply passing through."

      "Aye," said Eomer, "You did."

      The uncertainty brought a pall to the conversation.  Eomer was curious… perhaps even suspicious, as life taught him to be.  He was still not quite sure about the mysterious elf, who had risen from some strange, reclusive kingdom out in the north, and heartily gave his aid to mortal causes which were in a lot of respects, not particularly his own.  Eomer did not understand that kind of charity, our strangely-driven devotion.  He could not even say that he and Legolas were great friends… he knew very little of the elf and until now, found little inclination to remedy the situation.

      "Apart from riding a horse," Eomer said, "I don't think I've ever seen you off your feet."

      Legolas' brows rose.  "Indeed?"

      "You seemed perennially guarded," Eomer commented.

      "We knew each other in times of war," said Legolas, "I suppose it makes sense to be cautious.  As we've all had to be.  I remember," a smile curved his lips, "I remember very well, how you looked upon us the first time we met."

      The elf lowered his voice, and mimicked the grave tone of Eomer, "I would cut off your head if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

      Eomer laughed, surprised.  "I cannot forget."

      "It was rather abrasive," Legolas teased.

      "You were no less combative," Eomer pointed out.

      "The dwarf was a friend," Legolas said evenly, "And he was threatened.  I saw no other recourse."

      "Loyalty that I admire," Eomer told him, "What strange friends you've made in your lifetime.  A dwarf.  Affiliations with humans and hobbits, and wizards and fat old horses.  And now here we are, sharing a meal days after you've looked upon me from the lethal end of your bow.  What strange friends you've made indeed."

      "I know," Legolas chuckled, though there was a dimming in his eyes that were hard to miss, "How greatly do I know."  

      _And how often do I regret_.

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: elveneyes, sundiata, msl, pethron, starlit hope, silvertongue, keithan, sodalite, LOTRfaith, xiad rusco, arayelle lynn, pie, kitty, jenihenpen, tychen, faeliel, by-stander, stoneage woman, amy, althelas, dragonfly, ladyantari, halandleg4ever, angelmouse5, Kirsten, platy, jopru, deana, gozilla, elessar*lover, 

To elveneyes: I think he really is going to die, don't kill me! that's how it looks to me right now although, as always, the muses can always change my mind :)

To msl: it's just grief :) I'm really sorry to be so confusing.  I guess the fact that the timeline keeps jumping doesn't help much either :) but as I said, it's experimental and I hope it's not too bad, haha!

To keithan: wow, thanks! I really work hard to keep them plausible, and for my OC's to be at least marginally likeable, haha :) thank you :)

To sodalite: yup, that would be me :) when I usually say something I see it done, haha, so what happened in my two other fics where Legolas died ("Estel" and "Journey's End") will likely happen here too :)

To kitty: it's going to be like a present-past-present-past-present story :) jumping from one timeline to another, like flashbacks and stuff :)

To tychen: ah, to find him again… I'm not so sure.  Right now, no, haha.  But as always, that could very much change :) we'll see :)

To stoneage woman: I've yet to read and review your story and for that I'm monumentally sorry.  It's just that when I get caught up in a project, I have to keep going at it until it's done :) i'll make the time soon, truly :)

ON THE NEXT POST: the next part will be a flashback, set 15 years after "Finding Estel."  Legolas meets Strider for the first time :) Thanks again and 'til then!!!


	5. Strider: A Memory

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

5: Strider: A Memory I

* * *

_Bree__, 2953_

_* * *_

_      ~My lord, you must come, quick!~ the urgency in his oft-composed commander's voice sent fire through the Mirkwood prince's veins.  He shot to his feet and dashed behind the soldier, past the guarded doors of the quarters he had taken in the humble town inn._

_      They sailed down to the streets, navigated the winding alleys.  Legolas noticed that the sun was shining over their heads, casting the streets in a dim yellow glow.  He's been closeted in his room, pondering all the information he and the troop assigned to him had gathered, since early evening the night before._

_      They halted at a dead end, where a hooded adan and one of his soldiers were swinging knives at each other.  By instinct, he stepped forward between them, blocking the sword of his own soldier as it descended towards a killing blow._

_      ~My lord!~ the elf exclaimed, pulling back his weapon and stepping back._

_      ~Lower your weapon,~ Legolas snapped at him, and whipped around to face the human he had just defended, "Drop your weapon."_

_      The adan's eyes shone from beneath the shadow of his hood.  He glanced at the other elf, the commander who had brought Legolas to the alley.  He was outnumbered.  He lowered his sword to his side, but did not release it altogether.  Legolas was satisfied with the compromise._

_      "What does this mean?" Legolas asked, his eyes darting from the three other parties involved._

_      ~The adan--~ the commander began, only to be cut off._

_      "In Westron," Legolas ordered him tersely, "If the man is to be accused, he must understand the charges laid before him."_

_      "They exchanged insults in the bar, sir," the commander explained, immediately complying, "The man called our kin cowards who do not give aid and flee this world.  Our soldier only saw it fit to demand satisfaction and defend our honor.  I discovered this duel just moments ago."_

_      "A duel," Legolas said dispassionately, turning to the transgressor, "You must let these things slide.  Your courageous actions in the war shall speak all the better for you, rather than these embarrassing encounters."_

_      "I'm sorry," the soldier said, cowed, "I'm sorry, my lord.  It will not happen again—"_

_      The exchange was interrupted by the urgent arrival of a pair of men, hooded just as the dueling adan was.  Legolas knew that he was dealing with the mysterious Rangers of the North, of whom he heard much of in his missions and travels._

_      "Strider, I can explain—" the dueling adan said suddenly._

_      "The situation has already been well explained to me," the burlier one of the pair of new arrivals said gravely.  He glanced at the other elves in the dank corner of the bustling city.  There was something about his resonating voice, and his piercing silver eyes that struck a curious chord in Legolas' heart._

_      "I see the situation has already been resolved," he said evenly, "You are excused," he said to the man whom he ran with, and the dueler, "As a matter of fact, I do not wish to lay my eyes upon your face for the next few days."_

_      "Are you certain—" the man beside 'Strider' asked, hesitant to leave his Chieftain._

_      "Yes, go," Strider ordered, casually waving his hand and stepping toward Legolas.  The two men left with a backward glance at him._

_      ~Thank you,~ Strider said to the elf who seemed in charge, ~It looks to me as if you have successfully diffused the situation just ahead of me.  I apologize for the inconvenience.~_

_      ~I too, must apologize,~ said Legolas, not missing a beat though he pondered the mystery of this adan who could speak his tongue so fluently and naturally, ~It is a poor reflection upon our kin.  The situation will be remedied.~_

_      They looked at each other, and a hesitant smile curved the Ranger's lips.  He seemed to be uncertain, just before he pushed away his hood and revealed his face to the elf._

_      Legolas thought it was a pleasant face, with kind eyes that were very, very wise.  They were of a distinct silver-gray, and of a distinct disposition.  He was struck by their familiarity, and he knew at once that they must have come across each other before, though he was unsure where._

_      The adan wondered about the elf as well… Granted, a lot of elves generally looked the same.  But this one was particularly beautiful, and particularly known to him for some reason or other.  _

_      Their eyes must have lit up in understanding and recollection at the same time._

      Estel_, Legolas realized, just as the Ranger remembered this elf's face from his distant childhood._

_      ~You've not changed in all these years,~ Strider told him, smiling with some reserve, ~I've grown since you saw me last, though.  Now I really am as big as you."_

_      Legolas smiled as well.  ~Estel.  It has been…~ he paused in thought, ~Fifteen years,~ he said flatly, realizing and surprising himself, ~Such a time simply passes an elf by, I'm afraid.  I meant to return to Imladris, but I suppose I never got around to.  Has it really been too long? I hadn't noticed.  How fares your father?~_

_      ~The times give him much to worry for,~ Estel replied, ~But we are all well.~_

_      ~That is very good,~ Legolas nodded, studying the adan's face.  ~You look very hardy, Estel.  Or should I call you Strider? A very curious incarnation.~_

_      ~Much has happened since my ada sent you away in good health,~ Estel told him, ~And you can call me whatever you want.~_

_      ~I think I shall try Strider,~ Legolas laughed, shaking his head in awe, ~I'm astonished to find the years could still surprise me.~_

_* * *_

_      They sat along the main hall of the Prancing Pony Inn, across from each other in a corner, lagers atop the weathered wood of the old table.  Legolas reflected that it was a very _grown-up_ thing to do, still marveling at the man before him, whom he always saw in his mind and heart as a young, spirited boy who had once lent him strength._

_      Estel's brows rose at him quizzically over his glass, although his clever all-seeing eyes were already well-aware of what the elven warrior was thinking.   _

_      ~Are you afraid my ada would take me to task for the beer?~ Estel asked him wryly._

_      ~Yes,~ Legolas admitted with an embarrassed smile._

_      Estel nodded to the untouched glass before the elf.  ~I think by now, I've had far more than even you.~_

_      ~I wouldn't be surprised,~ Legolas said wryly._

_      ~What brings you to Bree?~ Estel asked him, ~If you do not mind my asking.  Not many elves come through here.~_

_      ~We thought to bring one of our injured here,~ Legolas replied, his voice strangely suddenly icy, ~He needed a warm bed, and a roof over his head.  I think it will all be to no avail.~_

_      ~I know some of the healing arts,~ Estel told him, ~From ada-- Do not look so skeptical.~_

_      ~I'm not,~ Legolas lied, his cheeks flushing in the thankfully dim room.  The doubt was more than reasonable; Estel had grown from an abstract vision of a seven-year-old to a Ranger of the North, and a healer to boot.  What puzzled him more was how the adan so easily understood and saw through him.  A feat matched by very few… as a matter of fact, he could think of none off the top of his head.  _Damn those eyes.

_      ~I can help,~ Estel told him, ~Really.~_

_      ~I…~ Legolas studied the eager man's face, ~I bet.~_

_      Estel's brows rose… _Oh would you?

_      Legolas reached for the glass before him and took a huge gulp.  _

_* * *_

_      The elf soldier was practically lying before the Halls of Mandos.  Sunken, dark-rimmed eyes were closed in an unnatural sleep, his hands folded over a chest that barely rose and fell in shallow breath that did not even bother to labor, or to struggle._

_      Estel frowned, and stepped closer.  The soldier watching guard over the ailing elf hesitated, but let him do whatever he desired.  Legolas, standing behind him, must have signaled some sort of thing.  _

_      Estel sat on the bed, next to the dying one's elbow.  The sight was all too familiar to Legolas… some habits Estel had not lost, changed though he may be._

_      Legolas watched the adan's hands.  They were sure, un-shaking, and held no hesitations at all.  The adroit digits were a sight to behold as they worked._

_      ~The most rudimentary of aids,~ Estel murmured, pulling away the sheets that covered the elf's bandaged torso, ~You aided him as best you could.  This is good work.~_

_      ~There is nothing else to do then?~ Legolas asked, and there was a tone to his voice that made Estel look up at him.  His words were conveyed so neutrally, so disinterestedly, and Estel found in the elven prince an unmoved expression to match.  His brows furrowed.  This was much different from the heartbroken prince he met nearly two decades ago, or to the delightfully surprised elf he re-encountered earlier this night._

_      ~There is always something to do,~ Estel told him evenly, turning away and focusing his attention upon his patient.  He drew out some herbs from his packs._

_      Legolas diligently watched him work.  ~I should not have doubted,~ he said quietly._

_      Estel worked silently, and for a moment Legolas wondered if his apology was heard at all.  _

_      ~Well.  You were always very discouraged,~ Estel said distractedly, and Legolas opened his mouth to resent the statement, just as Estel looked up at him quickly and shot him a teasing glance.  Legolas let it go._

_      ~You've a way with the _athelas_,~__ Legolas commented as Estel finished, ~I'm surprised you've not encountered any trouble with regard to it's legend.  Mortals oft believe it is magical in the hands of their King.~_

_      Estel covered the ailing elf with the sheets.  He looked up at Legolas with a curious expression on his face, ~Oh do they?~ he murmured, smiling at the elf jauntily.  He patted the unconscious elven soldier's slack hands.  The motion reminded Legolas all too much of Lord Elrond.  ~He will be well now, if you just give him some time.~_

_* * *_

_      They seemed hesitant to take their leave of each other._

_      Estel trailed Legolas to his room, and the elf seemed to expect it.  They stepped inside, and Legolas strode toward his desk, strewn with papers.  He fished around beneath sheaf after sheaf, and seemed to find at last what he's been looking for.  It was a slim dagger with an intricate hilt, vines and flowers and encrusted with pearls and colored stones.  Estel noted that there was something curiously feminine about it.  Legolas handed it to him with a slight bow._

_      Hesitantly, the adan took the offering, and studied the blade.  It was old, almost dull, but so stubbornly beautiful.  The bottom of the hilt bore an engraving of the standard of the Royal House of Mirkwood._

_      ~A gift,~ said Legolas, ~For all of your aid, now… as… as then.~_

_      Estel wondered what that meant.  ~Then?~_

_      ~A present much delayed, I admit,~ Legolas said quickly, ~for which I apologize.  I suppose I've long meant to have something sent but… another thing I never got around to doing.~_

_      ~I could not possibly--~ Estel began._

_      ~It was my mother's,~ Legolas told him, ~And now mine to give.  And yours to accept, I'm afraid.  I owe you much.  If it is far too little--~_

_      ~Nay,~ Estel said quickly, ~It is far too much… you would give it to me for seeing to you soldier? They are much loved.~_

_      ~Then consider it a gift for the House of Elrond,~ said Legolas, turning away from the penetrating silver eyes and pretending to busy himself with the papers, ~For your aid before.  You, and Lord Elrond.  And now too.  Please.  I wish I could offer you more.~_

_      ~I owe you much,~ Legolas said again, and borrowed a tone from his formidable father the King of Mirkwood, ~I will not suffer your refusal.~_

_      Estel's brows rose, more in amusement than offense, ~As you wish, _sire_.  Thank you.~_

* * *

_      The Rangers of the North lorded over a corner of the dining hall of the inn.  The other side was held by a contingent of elven soldiers in Mirkwood colors, and Strider noted that Legolas was not among them._

_      As a matter of fact, the Chieftain of the Rangers knew precisely when the elven prince entered, because there was a notable change in the decorum of his subordinates.  They all rose from their seats to greet him, bow slightly, and scramble to make a place for him.  The air was suddenly wrought with rigid formality.  Strider could see very well that Legolas was well-respected, possibly even awe-inspiring to them, though he was not particularly loved._

_      It was soon plain to see why.  He spoke little, smiled and laughed even less.  There was almost a shyness to it, or perhaps more of a conscious, well-controlled reserve.  The smiles and laughter Estel had been previously graced with was rare, and the adan soon realized it was probably because he had caught the prince unawares.  The casual, almost disinterested and distinctly cold reservation was more of who he was, and Estel was strangely disappointed.  _

_      He first thought Legolas hadn't changed at all, but it seems he's probably changed more than Estel himself.  Gone was the prince he met more than a decade ago, the elf who was dying of a broken heart.  In his place was an incarnation that walked through life as if he didn't even _have_ one._

_      Legolas ate and ran.  He had little food, and then politely excused himself.  His soldiers did not look surprised, and rose respectfully as their elven commander strode away.  _

_      Legolas passed the Rangers by, greeting them with a subtle nod.  Estel returned the cold courtesy, feeling as if they did not even know each other at all…_

_      Which was probably the case… After all, the first and last time they met until now was just for a few days almost two decades ago.  It could not, and should not have meant much to an elf who lived a thousand lifetimes and have seen a million faces, or to a sprightly child who had years and faces ahead of his own life to see._

_      Estel watched him leave, and then turned to his own party._

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hehe… naturally they wouldn't be friends right away after fifteen years, now could they? So it's like being back at square one :) 

The next post takes us back to 3019, and the death of an old friend… 'til then!!! :)

THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ALSO TO ALL MY REVIEWERS: andruil1043, specialfeel, tychen, sundiata, elveneyes, kit cloudkicker, lady of the twilight woods, halandleg4ever, MSL, kitty, ladyjanelly, stoneage woman, platy, karri, gozilla, mystic23, angelmouse5, starlit hope, LOTRfaith, Kelsey, elessar*lover, grumpy, dragonfly, knight Kenobi of eryn lasgalen and Kirsten.

To andruil1043: wow, thank you :) eomer was a gamble for me, I admit.  I'm glad you don't think he veers away from how he seems as represented in the books and movies :)

To specialfeel: I'm sorry if it seems uncharacteristic or not properly representative :) I did say this was a leap for me and I'm trying very hard to keep it from being too out of line.  He's my favorite character so I guess all I can say is that though it seems not too plausible, the piece is written with much love and much effort.  More reasons will be given in the chapters to come and I hope they will leave you with a more complete feeling.  Thanks for the c&c's.  they give me much to ponder and hopefully repair :) I have a bit of wariness over a profoundly emotionally helpless legolas too (I just had no idea I represented him thus), and I always try to infuse my representation with strength and dignity, despite the tragic context.  This effort shall be further reinforced :) thanks!

To tychen: estel has a champion in you… or more like a lobbyist, haha.  I've now figured out two endings.  This fic will be about 18 chapters (I'm trying fervently to make it 20 because I have a fixation for 'round' numbers' but we'll see), and I'm stuck at 10 so things can definitely change :)

To elveneyes: I think the whole 'torture' genre is based on the archetype of the fallen hero.  It's like wanting to see beyond the oft-represented invulnerability, or to magnify their importance by showing a world where their loss is such a grave possibility :) it's strange, I know, but that's how I've always understood it :)

To halandleg4ever: your right… mr. rohan man will figure it out by chapter eight :)

To kitty: likely not, haha.  The point of the structure of the story is for us to always want Estel to be more than a memory, to come in and save the day.  It's supposed to be how Legolas feels but doesn't want to act toward.  This is my whole 'medium is the message' fixation :)

To stoneage woman: haha, I'm not offended at all.  It's actually a rather easy question, you know :) I don't review because I don't read closely and I don't think it would be fair to review unless I already have.  If you noticed my handful of reviews, they're for shorter stories (means they took less time to read), or midway of a story and then stops altogether (I started reading and then I didn't have time to continue).  Most of my faves list are actually faves because I think they may be interesting (I kind of just flip through them.  One chapter every three or so), and 'bookmark' them to read in case I one day find the time.  I'm more of a writer than a reader, I think.  I just get so caught up I can't do anything else until I'm done with a story and usually, by the time that happens, I want to work on something else.  And then I won't stop 'til it's done, etc., etc.  It's a disease, I know, haha.   

To platy: actually I already thought of another ending.  I'm just trying to weight it now :) anyway, I have time to think.  This story will go up to about 18 chapters ++, and I'm stuck at 10 :)

To karri: haha, I'm not sure if you'd still get to read this but I hope I didn't do anything to traumatize you! :) I'm not that disturbed, really!!! :) thanks for taking the time to read some of the story anyway :)

To dragonfly: I think you found my muses because they went and gave me an alternate ending.  I'm still torn though :) we'll see :) btw, I hope you didn't hurt them too bad, haha.

THANKS EVERYONE!!! 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	6. Last Legs

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

6: Last Legs

* * *

Rohan

3019

* * *

      Things could have ended there.  But of course fate had its own ideas and well, life unfolded otherwise.

      Eomer was watching his face, and Legolas was once again reminded of why the man before him was a King… he had wise eyes, _like Estel_, and this commanding presence, _like Estel_.  Eomer just wasn't as warm, wasn't as humorous, wasn't as blindly optimistic, wasn't as willing to suffer fools _like me_.

      "Much is on your mind," Eomer observed, returning to his food when it was apparent that even his most powerful stare could not draw words from the elf's mouth.

      "I was wondering," Legolas said, "I was wondering perhaps if I am keeping you from your duties.  You needn't see to me, really.  I've enjoyed the hospitality of these halls before, I can fend for myself."

      "You are no bother," Eomer assured him, raising an eyebrow, "After all, I must eat too.  But I do not know, Legolas… why did that statement feel as if it was I who was being dismissed?"

      "Of course not," Legolas said quickly, "I just do not want to be an imposition, like an unwanted guest."

      "These halls will always welcome you," Eomer told him, "I do not think I need to expound why.  You've seen your effect on our folk.  My aide could not cease speaking of you.  Say…" Eomer's eyes glinted, "Would you be in need of one? I've just about had my fill of that impossible boy."

      "No thank you," Legolas chuckled.

      "Determined to travel alone," Eomer commented, turning serious once again, his eyes trying to read into the elf's.

      "No," Legolas said lightly, wanting to keep the conversation from weighing too much, "I'm just not particularly inclined to welcome _that_ brand of company."

      "A sentiment I gravely share," Eomer said wryly.

      Legolas put down his utensils, and folded his hands neatly over his lap.  "This was a delectable meal, sire.  Thank you."

      "You barely ate," Eomer retorted, glancing over the elf's plate, "The cooks shall be disappointed.  They will wonder if this means theirs is not a match for elvish fare."

      "Tell them to take no offense," Legolas smiled, "It is more a poor reflection on me.  More used to thin broths and uncooked things, I'm afraid.  A menu more like to a warrior and a wanderer than those meant for the halls of Kings."

      "Your royal houses do not serve such food?" Eomer inquired.

      "I'm not there often enough to note," Legolas replied, slightly embarrassed.

      "Where are you most often then?" Eomer asked.

      The question made Legolas wonder about the same thing himself.  "Here and there," he replied after a moment of thought, the realization surprising as well.

      "A leaf in the wind," Eomer mused, "Ironic, that one of the Woodland Realm should have no roots."

      Legolas smiled at him slightly.  Well, he was just as puzzled over this disjointed, misplaced feeling that has long plagued his soul.  

      Life was too slow, he reflected, and he moved too fast, often feeling as if he exhausted all the heart of a billion lifetimes, and was emptily looking at a billion more.  He was always too passionate for the oft-complacent elves, but also too bloody _immortal_ to find a place among the more impulsive _edain_.  He despised the idea of living when all else he cherished were dead, then again he could not die himself (_at least not in the conventional sense_.).  He ached to leave the Earth and sail over the Sea, yet he desired fervently to remain as well.    

      _Cannot live.__  Cannot die.  Cannot leave.  Cannot stay_…

      The dramatic irony was even more greatly apparent in a heart that _had_ to love, and yet was slowly being killed by it.  Cannot love, cannot stop.  Crazy, crazy heart…

      _Cursed, self-destructive little insurrectionist…__  Stop.  Damn you._

      Lenne entered the room hurriedly, and had the discipline enough to bow to his master before turning to the elvish guest.

      "My lord," he said, "Your horse… I'm afraid… I'm afraid we believe he is dying."

      "May I be excused?" Legolas asked Eomer urgently.

      "Go," Eomer told him as he hurriedly gulped down the food in his mouth, "I shall follow shortly."  To his servant, he said, "Ensure that all is being done to save… Butter."

      "Of course, my lord," Lenne nodded, saying to Legolas, "Follow me please."

* * *

      The ridiculous fat horse's spirit was too great to be contained in this forsaken body.  Legolas looked on dispassionately at the mare laid upon its side in the narrow stall.  

      _If you had my body, you would live forever.  If I had yours… I'll be at peace at last_.

      Legolas stepped forward, and the stable boys who were attending the horse looked to find the famed elf-warrior and hero with widened eyes.

      "You shall not utter a word of this," Lenne told them belatedly, "Or the King will have our heads in a platter."  
      "Oh Lenne," one of them breathed, "But this is _Legolas_.  Of Helm's Deep.  Of all those other places they sing about.  My brothers will be thrilled."  He wrinkled his nose, "Not to mention my sisters."

      "A breath of this to anyone and let's see where that gets you," Lenne told him harshly, "Swear on your mother's name, boy."

      "I swear," they mumbled, and shuffled away.  Lenne hesitated by the stall door.

      "You may go," Legolas told him quietly, sitting on the hay next to the dying beast and running a hand across his side, "There is nothing to be done here."

      "Are you certain, my lord?" Lenne asked, "The King said—"

      "The King will say the same once he sees," Legolas told him, "Please go.  There is nothing to be done here."  
      "I'm…" Lenne hesitated as he turned to leave, "He's not the prettiest horse there is and doesn't look very fast but… well.  I'm very sorry."

      "It's all right," Legolas murmured at the boy, "His life was long and bountiful.  It's not altogether a tragedy for things to end this way."

      "Of course, my lord," Lenne said quietly, "If you need anything else, I will just be by."

      He walked away, and Legolas was soon left with just the sound of the rain outside and pouring over the roof of the stables, and the labored breathing of his horse.

      ~Have a safe journey,~ Legolas murmured to it, his fingers running across the fine fur, ~I'm not particularly one of the strongest faith, but they say things begin anew.  I believe this for you means you will probably have groats, barley and buckwheat to swim on, my friend.  You'll eat 'til you fall asleep and end up fat as a cow, but quick as a warg in a haven where no mortal laws apply.~

      The horse was looking at him with beady eyes that seemed satisfied.  It was almost enviable.

      ~I shall join you soon,~ he said, trying the words on for size.  It did not feel as awkward as he thought it might, with his fears and his realizations coming to a strange reality once worded and released into the air.

      _"You are probably more saddled than benefited by it," Eomer pointed out some hours ago, "That horse is on its last legs, mark my word.  I shall give you a new one for the rest of your journey."_

_      "It has quite a few leagues to it yet," Legolas assured Eomer, "It will do what it must, and it will take me where I ought to be_."

      ~Is this where I ought to be then?~ Legolas asked the beast.  

      But the horse was dead.  The rise and fall of its chest heaved, and ceased, beneath Legolas' palms, and the fat horse made itself a name amongst a litany of lost friends in a lifetime fraught with entirely too many of them.

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: tychen, elveneyes, elessar*lover, starlit hope, MSL, andruill043, stoneage woman, LOTRfaith, angelmouse5, amy, cotume, dragonfly32, Kirsten, platy, deana, elvenranger13, 

To elveneyes: the old friend was butter :) as you now know :)

To MSL: I try to be consistent with my posting.  But I'm not sure just how consistent I'll be in the next few days because I'm still stuck at chapter 10, haha.  Oh well :)

To andrull043: oh I know, eomer is so cool.  I remember watching ROTK and just wanting to write something about him but I couldn't really figure out how I understand him 'til now, haha.

To stoneage woman: ah yes, cold because of people lost in 15 years.  But I wouldn't be delving much into that.  The old friend who died is butter :) I have no problems revealing my age :) I'm 20 years old, and am a business major in college—which makes me wonder where I find the time myself, haha!

To LOTRfaith: oh this story has nothing at all to do with my "Exile" trilogy :) I guess it's just incidental the cold representation is re-done :)

To cotume: no, those wounds are healed.  It was the disease that came back, but the wounds are from elsewhere :) I'm so sorry… it's a confusing tale, isn't it? ­:) haha, the new wounds will be expounded on later.  The flashbacks operate in such a way that they start from the past (2938) and will work its way up to the present (3019).  Past and present will meet toward the end :) and about the story from my faves list… well, mn theis is a rather incredible writer methinks :) the piece blows me away too :)

To Kirsten: oh you guessed it… goodbye butter.  Is that so evil? He died happy (promise!)! :) wow, thanks for your appreciation of the characters and the lines.  Sometimes random lines pop into my head and I think it sounds nice and I try to build an entire story or like a scene around it.  you picked up one of them! :)

To deana: actually I am leaning toward that one now :) although I'm still unsure :) we'll see :) 

To elvenranger13: I don't know about other people, but I write in that prevalent topic because of this fallen hero thing.  You know those stories about what would happen to the world if you've never been born? I think the importance of anyone is magnified when we are threatened by the loss of him :) so that is the reason for me although I'm not sure about others :)

THANKS EVERYBODY!!! 'TIL THE NEXT POST-- which will see the beginning of a renewed friendship :) 'TIL THEN!!!


	7. Strider: A Memory continued

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

7: Strider: A Memory II

* * *

_Outskirts of Bree, 2953_

* * *

_      The Rangers left the town some hours ahead of the contingent of elves that Legolas commanded, who waited for the recovery of their comrade.  It is in this way that they avoided the storm that hit the Rangers, a sizeable horde of orcs that struck them along their road._

_      The elves broke into the wood, finding bodies strewn left and right, orc and adan, dead, dying and grieving.  The battle seemed to be well into its tail end, and though Legolas and his subordinates dismounted their horses with great urgency and weapons raised and ready, they never got to use them._

_      Legolas stood amidst the carnage, his eyes darting from one corner of the fading melee to another, and finally rested on the familiar sight of Estel._

_      The man was cradling one of his own troops, whose body was limp though his eyes were afire, holding true to Estel's lonely stare.  Legolas averted his eyes, and wished he could shut his ears.  It was not his moment to share.  He was some intruder who had walked into sights and words that were not his to take._

_      "You should not have taken a strike meant for me," Estel was telling the man fervently just under his breath, "I can promise you nothing…"_

_      "And you needn't," the weak voice replied, "My lord… you are the promise.  By the very truth that you are here…" his voice shook, as his body shuddered with the last of his strength and breath, "I can still see our kingdoms standing in your eyes.  I've long fought to reclaim our lands, my lord… but in this last act of mine that kept you standing, that kept you fighting… I know I've succeeded at last.  My King."_

      ~You've a way with the _athelas_,~ Legolas commented, ~I'm surprised you've not encountered any trouble with regard to it's legend.  Mortals oft believe it is magical in the hands of their King.~

      He looked up at Legolas with a curious expression on his face, ~Oh do they?~ he murmured, smiling at the elf jauntily.

      _Legolas__ heart stopped.  And so there it was, then.  King indeed.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, Gondor's lost child, look up at him._

_      Legolas turned to face the Ranger's lonely silver eyes, ever more liquid with their unshed tears.  _

_      "I am sorry for you loss," he said, and Aragorn nodded at him, before placing his companion gently to the ground.  The _adan_ rose to his feet, and looked around._

_      Legolas made a step toward one of the fallen men, to check if he was still alive.  He was halted by a sharp bark from Aragorn._

_      "Raise no finger," he was commanded, "We bury our own dead."_

_      Legolas' chin jutted out in reflex.  That tone brought out the rebel in him for sure, because it reminded him of his father._

_      "While you unnecessarily refuse aid," Legolas retorted, "Night falls deeper and the stench of this place shall call more of these beasts into your folds.  Accept aid, lest you wish to lose more."_

_      The elf did not wait for a reply.  He ordered his men forward.  Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him and let him do whatever he wanted._

* * *

_      The bodies of the lost edain were laid to rest in the ground, while the orcs burned in a pile.  Legolas stood before the fire, watching as the blaze danced and its smoke soared to the air, obscuring the stars of the clear night sky.  His soldiers stood behind him.  Wordlessly compromising, the elves kept their hands solely on work of disposing of the orcs, and let the men do as they wished with their dead. They kept their distance and did their work quietly, ending it with the pyre._

_      Strider appeared into the scene, and stared at his burning enemies next to the elf._

_      Legolas did not quite know what to stay, so he held his ground and kept himself from moving too much, lest he called unwanted attention unto himself, or he disturbed whatever deep thoughts or fervent prayers the man beside him surely must be having._

_      But it was Aragorn himself who cut through that palpable silence, saying contritely, ~I am sorry for my harshness earlier.  We are very grateful for your help.~_

_      ~I understand very well that loss can be maddening,~ Legolas told him quietly, ~You need not apologize.~_

_      Aragorn paused, hesitating, ~There is guilt that mars my soul.  I should not be standing here.~_

_      ~You are where you need to be,~ Legolas told him, ~I'm finding I could not ask life of anything else than that.~_

_      It seemed to satisfy the Ranger, and it was Legolas' turn to say what was on his mind._

_      ~I always wondered what Lord Elrond's business was, housing an _adan_,~__ he said, ~Now I know.~_

_      ~I was not made aware of the lineage myself,~ Aragorn confessed, ~Until two years ago.~_

_      ~Your eyes have aged,~ Legolas noted, ~But then what should I have expected?  It is much to hope for things to remain just as they were.~_

_      ~Aye,~ Aragorn agreed, ~Are you on your way East?~_

_      ~Yes,~ replied Legolas, ~My father sent me to catalog armies other than those of Dol Guldur, here in the west.  I was on my way home.  We cannot have these armies banded, Strider.  They must be kept apart, and battled apart.  Thus could their efforts still be weathered.~_

_      ~I must remain here,~ Aragorn said, ~But if you would send a message to my family in Imladris, I will gladly share our information with you.~_

_      ~The bribe is unnecessary,~ Legolas told him, ~But the information will be much appreciated.~_

* * *

_      The elves and the edain made camp.  While the two races kept very warily apart, their commanders sauntered into the Chieftain's tent, bearing their papers and eager to work together.  Man and elf sat side by side on the ground, and Legolas looked over Aragorn's information, nodding at an elaborate drawing of an uruk-hai._

_      "Those are a menace," he said distastefully, "New breeds.  Much more clever.  Someone out there is doing cruelly efficient work improving these detestable creatures."_

_      "There are more of them about," Aragorn murmured, "One wonders where from."_

_      "Not too many of them in Mirkwood yet," Legolas said, "Though I've not been home in a year.  Do you consider the North a protectorate of the Rangers?"_

_      "Yes, of course," Aragorn replied, "Hardly enough of us to go around aiding elsewhere."_

_      "I know," said Legolas, "Even our own soldiers could do little else than defend our own Realm."_

_      He took some of the papers in Aragorn's side, and began writing upon his own notes whatever information he found useful._

_      "One of these days," he murmured as he worked, "A more coordinated effort should be made towards combating them.  The years have seen mostly nothing but defenses.  We need an offensive."  
      "As soon as we know which front to take," Aragorn said wryly, "It is proving very difficult."  The man let the elf prince work, rising from the ground and towards his packs.  A leather envelope held a sheaf of papers tied together by a string, spanning four-fingers thick.  He handed them to Legolas._

_      The elf looked up, and took the offering, looking slightly bewildered._

_      Aragorn smiled, saying, "I write them everyday that I could.  Days may be mere moments to you elves, but each one counts for me.  I'm afraid," he chuckled quietly, "I'm afraid if I do not much update them, I'd have grown so old and so different they wouldn't be able to recognize me."_

_      Legolas laid the pile beside his hip, looking at the man curiously, "Well I've not seen you in fifteen years and still managed.  I'm sure you needn't worry about being forgotten."_

_      "I suppose," Aragorn conceded, before pointing out, "You are looking at me strangely."_

_      "I'm wondering if you are particularly spirited," the elf replied, looking back at his work, embarrassed by the scrutiny, "Or particularly insane.  Or perhaps just particularly forgetful."_

_      "Why is that?" Aragorn asked, sitting across from him._

_      "You recover quickly," Legolas replied hastily, before he changed his mind about saying the things that weighed heavily on his mind._

_      "Ah," Aragorn's brows rose, and a familiar pain crossed his eyes as he replied, "Spirited, yes.  Insane, often.  Forgetful… regretfully no.  You see, Legolas… These arms have held many 'til their last breath and these hands have laid to the ground far more.  There will be others yet in the future.  But you shed your tears, and you indulge your bad thoughts for a day, Legolas, just a day, maybe less, and then you move along.  Because many depend on it."_

_      "One cannot turn the heart on or off," Legolas pointed out,_ Regretfully.

_      "One cannot," Aragorn agreed, "But it must not be blinded by its hurts toward what it must do.  And I am a man with much to do.  I cannot halt.  This blood owes the world much."_

_      Legolas looked up from his work, toward those passionate silver eyes.  "Is this one of your insane moments?"_

_      "It's actually one of my better ones," Aragorn told him, smiling slightly, "I know why you ask this.  Because I've seen you with your people.  They adore you, but you are evasive.  The first time we met you were dying because you loved too much.  And now you are dead because you love nothing at all.  I've seen it in others before.  You fear to lose.  You think you cannot lose that which you do not have."_

_      "Justifiably," Legolas pointed out, not bothering to deny.  The man was too perceptive for his own good, "Much life has already been paid before I learned this…"_

_      "But to live this way," Aragorn pointed out, "Do you not think you've already lost?"_

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS FOR ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: cotume, tychen, sundiata, kit cloudkicker, elrohir lover, andruill043, stoneage woman, MSL, kitty, amy, obsidian raven, gozilla, Kirsten, LOTRfaith, elessar*lover, lady janelly, Barbara kennedy, halandleg4ever, kniht Kenobi of eryn lasgalen, platy, dragonfly32, starlit hope, deana,

To kit cloudkicker:  they'll get stranger, haha.  And I haven't been calling you kitty :) 

To andruill043: good luck on your project!!! :)

To stoneage woman: oh don't be awkward at all.  Any c&c's are welcome and they ought to be-- age is immaterial.  If a piece lacks gloss or has errors, well it simply does, no matter how old the person seeing it :) seriously :) and no, I haven't touched broken alliance at all :) going professional is currently not in the plan.  I'm doing well in my biz major subjects and it's so much fun too so I probably will not be writing professionally although it's often a nice thought :)

To MSL: I'm out of chapter 10!!! Haha.  I got out of the funk yesterday :) 11 is on the works too :)

To Kirsten: wow, thank you!!! oh I get so afraid gambling (with characterizations) and at least it seems on the mark so far :) THANK YOU!!! and good news… chapter 10 has released me at last.  I'm midway through eleven, I think.  This fic will be about 20 chapters if I get my way :) thanks again and hopefully, I get to keep you riding in first class, haha.  Btw, you picked my favorite line too, about the heart that had to love :) you must think I'm disturbed, haha :)

To LOTRfaith: actually I'm leaning towards not killing him off… I've never gone back on a plot point like that though, so I'm not so certain yet.  It seems so much a part of the original plan, like it was at the crux of the story to get there.  But whatever works best when the time comes I guess :) I can at least assure you that I am very much considering :)

To platy: oh my, I keep forgetting.  Oh well… makes 'it' even more special, haha. You bring a smile to my face.  Maybe the inspiring contents of that suitcase really do work!!! :)

To deana: wow, thanks, that's really amazingly kind! But, haha, I got out of the funk yesterday and am finding my groove at last! Chapter ten is done, and eleven is on its way too! :) 

THANKS AGAIN EVERYBODY AND 'TIL THE NEXT POST, which takes us back to 3019.

And since you've all been so incredible (and chapter 8 is faily long), I'll give you a preview:

* * *

      Eomer hurriedly chewed at the food in his mouth and downed it with a gulp of wine.  He was on his feet even before he placed the goblet upon the table, eager to follow after Legolas.

      He was accosted in the halls by his majordomo, who had a worried expression on his face.

      "What is wrong?" the King inquired.

      "The maid was fixing the elf's room, my lord," the majordomo replied, "She found an anomaly."

      The King strode toward Legolas' room, trailed by the majordomo who strides were shorter.

      "Explain," the King ordered as they navigated the halls.

      "She ran to me and said that there was blood," the majordomo replied, "blood on his clothes, bloodied bandages in his packs.  She says when she realized there was something amiss, she dropped everything as she found them and searched for me."

      Eomer pushed the door to Legolas' room and indeed found the bloodied cloths.  He picked them up, and studied them.  He scowled in displeasure.  The elf must have been _bleeding_ to death where he stood, with these ridiculously copious amounts!

      "Leave me be," Eomer told the majordomo quietly, "And send a healer here at once."  The man nodded and closed the door behind him.  Eomer strode to the window, and watched as Legolas jogged through the rain from the stables to the main palace.

'TIL THE NEXT POST!!! :)


	8. Breaking

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

8: Breaking

* * *

Rohan

3019

* * *

      The man had been right of course… but then again when was he not? Legolas was never quite sure if there was just so much wisdom lodged in that single person or perhaps, Aragorn was just one of the most convincingly insane person there ever was.  Maybe he was both.  It wasn't altogether such an awful thing.

      Either way, one thing was certain: the _adan_ was remarkably contagious.  Whether Legolas acquired wisdom or insanity from him was a different question altogether, he supposed.  What he knew for certain was that when they met Estel gave him life.  Thereafter he taught the elf how to live it.  And now… well, Estel inadvertently ends it too.

      Legolas shivered.  The cold was getting to him.  The short jog across the unroofed way from the stables to the palace got his clothes wet from the rain once again.

      He patted Butter's side one last time and called for Lenne.  The boy would know to care for the corpse… he was, after all, in Rohan where they were animals much revered and respected (_even the fat, old, groat-selfish ones_).

      He looked gloomily out into the rain, and made his way back.  

* * *

      Eomer hurriedly chewed at the food in his mouth and downed it with a gulp of wine.  He was on his feet even before he placed the goblet upon the table, eager to follow after Legolas.

      He was accosted in the halls by his majordomo, who had a worried expression on his face.

      "What is wrong?" the King inquired.

      "The maid was fixing the elf's room, my lord," the majordomo replied, "She found an anomaly."

      The King strode toward Legolas' room, trailed by the majordomo who strides were shorter.

      "Explain," the King ordered as they navigated the halls.

      "She ran to me and said that there was blood," the majordomo replied, "blood on his clothes, bloodied bandages in his packs.  She says when she realized there was something amiss, she dropped everything as she found them and searched for me."

      Eomer pushed the door to Legolas' room and indeed found the bloodied cloths.  He picked them up, and studied them.  He scowled in displeasure.  The elf must have been _bleeding_ to death where he stood, with these ridiculously copious amounts!

      "Leave me be," Eomer told the majordomo quietly, "And send a healer here at once.  Send Avia."  The man nodded and closed the door behind him.  Eomer strode to the window, and watched as Legolas jogged through the rain from the stables to the main palace.

* * *

      Legolas stepped inside his room and closed the door.  He turned toward his bed absently, and found the King of Rohan glowering at him.  Legolas' eyes darted from Eomer's face, to the bloodied strips of cloth he gripped in his hands.

      "I passed by the dining hall to find you gone," Legolas said tentatively, gauging the mood, "They said you had retired to the bed chambers.  I did not know they were referring to mine."

      Eomer's sharp eyes were devouring his face, but refrained from immediately speaking of his main concern, succeeding in heightening the tension and anxiety in the room.  "How fares Butter?"

      "Butter died," Legolas replied.

      "I'll have a fresh horse for you," Eomer said, "As soon as you our business here is settled."

      "Does that mean I've worn out my welcome?" Legolas asked him coolly.

      "No," the King replied tersely, "That means you will leave when I permit it, and only then.  I do not like being kept in the dark, elf." He raised up the bloodied cloths at last, "What in the world does this mean? Did you by any chance kill anything or anyone that I should know of?"

      "Those are mine," Legolas said evenly, "And hardly yours or anyone else's business."

      "The maids clean the rooms," Eomer replied, "That is their job.  Just as it is _my_ job to know if anything is amiss."

      "Yes, those are mine," Legolas informed him.

      "Your cloths," Eomer retorted, "That is already quite apparent to me.  And the blood? I need to hear it from your own lips."

      "Mine as well," Legolas replied, "It is not a concern.  Trivial wounds, I assure you."

      A knock on the door interrupted the exchange.

      "Enter!" Eomer commanded, and a shapely middle-aged woman with cunning eyes stepped into the room.

      "_Avia_," Eomer decreed, "Shall be the judge of that.  I want those wounds seen to, Legolas.  If you have any respect for me or this House, you will suffer whatever she wishes to subject you to."

      "That leaves much to define," the woman said mildly, looking at the elf in a most suggestive manner.  Legolas looked at her miserably, thinking, _I miss Estel_.

      "Hers are the best hands in my land," Eomer said, "And though she likes to pretend to be mindless, it is her caring that saw Our soldiers through the war."

      "They all love me," she said to Legolas with a shrug.

      "I would wager," Legolas muttered.

      "Don't be snide," she warned him.

      "Make sure he lives," Eomer said to the woman wryly, as he headed for the door, "Anything happens to him and Elessar will have my head.  No use courting another war now, is there?"

      "No sire," she said easily, taking Legolas by the elbow and leading him to his own bed.

      "The wounds are not serious," Legolas told her quickly, wondering if he could escape her scrutiny now that Eomer left.  But this was an old woman well-used to the antics and stubbornness of soldiers, and she will not be dissuaded.

      "Then it wouldn't hurt to see to them," she said plainly, her deft hands unfastening his tunic.  She removed all the bandages he had previously put on, and looked at the wounds upon his chest, side and arm carefully.

      "These are not serious," she concluded, "But they are yet to clot.  I can tell you've lost much blood.  I bet you do not take care of yourself very well."  She looked at his face, "Dizzy?"

      He considered lying, he did.  But there was something about healers… it's almost as if it wasn't simply seeing to wounds and ills that were the matter of their studies.  They were well-versed in the detection of liars as well.  These were prying eyes likened to Estel's.  And he would save a lot of time and breath not bothering with pretenses.

      "Some," he admitted at last.

      "Apparently your mind has also slowed," she murmured.

      "No," he found the heart to chuckle, "I was merely contemplating lying to you."

      "Breathless?" she inquired wryly.

      "At times," he answered.

      "Cold?" 

      "Yes."

      She frowned.  "And you are pale, and trembling.  Weaker, than when I saw you last, pounding away at your enemies."

      "Elves do not pound, ma'am," he said.

      "It's the same thing," she muttered, turning away from him and grabbing some herbs from her pack, laying them neatly on the night table, "I was at Helm's Deep, of course.  And I was amongst the healers brought toward Pelannor Fields.  I've seen you.  You took our breaths away.  And now… well, you seem to have succeeded in taking your own breath away, hm?"

      "You must think you're very clever," he said dryly.

      She slipped the robe over his shoulders to keep him warm, but did not fasten the links.  "Give me a moment," she murmured, grabbing some herbs and heading for the door.  She gave some quiet orders to a servant accosted outside, and then returned to Legolas empty handed.

      She sat beside him and watched his face.  "You are a very handsome boy.  Do you know that I have a daughter?"

      He indulged her with a smile.  "I'm sure she is wonderful.  Do you want me to marry her?"

      "Can you wait? She is seven years old right now and when she grows up, she wants to be an elf," Avia laughingly pronounced.

      _Sounds familiar_, Legolas thought, his eyes growing distant, remembering Estel.

      "It was meant to make you smile," she told him wistfully, "Well.  I know a few years is very long to wait.  Since you're old."

      "Not any more older than you, I bet," he teased.

      "Now that's a mean thing to say to a vain old woman," she pointed out in sham offense, walking to the door at the sound of approaching footsteps.  She relieved a maid of a large bowl of water and a mug of tea.  Legolas rose to help her but she looked at him pointedly and carried the load herself, closing the door behind her by kicking at it.

      She meticulously treated and bound his wounds, and she was so careful he was tempted to tell her not to waste her time on a cause that he knew to be lost.  But he bit his tongue, and let her do as she pleased.

      "Reach for that mug, will you?" she asked him nonchalantly as she worked, "Drink it please."

      "Do I look like a fool?" he asked her.

      "It's only just to lend you strength for lost fluids," she muttered distractedly, "Besides, you have no choice.  I distinctly remember my lord's orders that you are to do all that I ask if you have any respect for this House.  You are, after all, a helplessly honorable person."

      Growling slightly, Legolas did as he was told.  The drowsing effect was quick, and his eyelids were feeling as leaden as the rest of his body.

      "Help me solve a mystery, ma'am," he drawled at her in displeasure as his mind drifted, "Do they teach healers _lying_ as well as the medicinal art in your schooling?"

      "No," she smiled genuinely up at him, "We're simply taught how to deal with really difficult people."

* * *

      When he next woke, he felt much refreshed, and wondered for a brief moment if he was healing at last.  Legolas blinked up at the ceiling, his vision hazy.  He raised up his arm, and found the bandage there already stained.  He sighed.  He wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment, because he wasn't entirely sure what it was he ultimately wanted.

      Legolas turned his face to the window, where streaks of the afternoon sun lent light to his room.  And so the rain has stopped.  The day was pleasantly warm and breezy, and it was the way he knew Rohan best.

      He sat up, and leaned his head upon the board of his bed to let the dizziness and lethargy pass, closing his eyes and running his hands over his face.  His fingers drifted up to his tangled hair, and he grimaced in displeasure.  The mere fact that one was ailing was no excuse to look like a wild man.

      Slowly, so as to keep his balance, he made his way to the wash basin in a corner of the room and splashed water upon his face.  He dried himself with a towel, and changed into the fresh clothes laid for him on the dresser.  

      He strode to the mirror, frowning at his reflection.  What else could he do, really… He undid the remnants of his braids and his fingers deftly combed through his hair.  His hands still shook, and his arms were feeling uncharacteristically strained.  The idea of fading this way was creating a profound sadness.  The _simplest_ of things was a struggle, it seemed.  He finished with the braid.  Not his best, but it was a triumph in a day just begun and already so much filled with hardship.

      He walked to the window… the breezes outside were inviting, and he knew they would soothe his heart, as the outdoors almost always did.  He looked up at the clear skies, and his eyes drifted down to the horse plains of Rohan, then lower still to the stables below.  Beside it was a bordered ring, within which Eomer was trying to break the wild mare from yesterday.

      The King seemed to be determined to break his neck, though Legolas had to admit the entire process was an arrestingly beautiful sight.  Man upon beast, desperately clinging and at the same time fighting to make the horse submit.  Defense and offense all at once, and the same went for the horse who was trying to free itself and at the same time, assert its force.  A battle of wills it was, the horse thrashed and reared, swinging its head from side to side.  It was almost brutal, possibly violent.  It was also inalienable beautiful and honest.  It was like a lethal dance, expressive, wordless.  Pounding hooves was music, and dust swirled around them like a mysterious fog.

      Legolas had heard of this 'breaking,' but never saw it before, or never saw it the way he was seeing it now.  This was Rohan after all.  Land of the horse masters, its legend and lore founded by this very dance.  The elves preferred talking their horse-friends into submission.  Clever and painless, yes of course, with the end result very similar.  But the sight of this 'breaking' was powerful and enchanting.

      The riders of Rohan seemed just as arrested, surrounding the ring and watching fixatedly.  It must have been a sight they were used to. But _this_ was Eomer too, and he was amongst the very best of them.

      The horse reared up violently, and then reversed the move completely and kicked up its hind legs, throwing Eomer off his back and sending him to the ground.  Legolas pressed closer to the window in alarm, feeling ridiculous.  What, was he going to jump to aid the King?

      _I could have_, he thought mournfully, _Had__ this been any other day_…

      He turned away from the window and hurriedly ran out the room, down the halls, out the palace.  He burst into the open air breathlessly, eyes darting to the ring which was now dominated by the horse, looking as if it was _proud_ of itself.  Legolas sighed and shook his head, deciding it was a crazy game after all.  He found Eomer seated at one of the weathered old benches strewn here and there, a cut upon his forehead being sewn up by Avia.  Lenne was hovering like a mother hen.

      "Back away, fool!" Avia exclaimed at the boy, "You are taking my light!"  
      Legolas caught his breath and walked over.  The soldiers he passed were looking at him with awed expressions on their faces and they murmured amongst themselves.  Eomer watched his approach slyly.  There was a youth regained in his powerful eyes.

      "Glad to see you on your feet, Master Elf," he greeted.

      "Are you trying to kill yourself?" Legolas asked him flatly, annoyed at the carelessness, annoyed that the _fool_ king caused him so much worry that he ran out here and revealed his secret presence to Rohan at last.

      "No," Eomer replied as Avia finished with a flourish, "I am actually feeling so delectably alive."

      The sun on his cheeks, his eyes glimmering… he seemed so warm and vibrant that Legolas almost envied him.

      Eomer waved Avia and Lenne, and the rest of his surrounding entourage away.

      "Not even a 'thank you,'" Avia muttered, and Eomer shot her a shameless smile as she walked away.

      "I'm glad to see you on your feet," Eomer said to Legolas.

      "You talk as if I had been severely incapacitated," Legolas retorted, "But I was off my feet not because of a grievous condition but precisely because the woman you sent put something in my drink."

      "Ah, she has a whole bag of tricks," Eomer conceded, "How do you feel?"

      "I'm recovering my heart," Legolas replied wryly, "Your fall made it drop to my stomach."

      "It's but one of many that came before it," said Eomer, rubbing his shoulders, "And many more will follow.  You know we have the best horses bred and raised in our stables, but to break a horse is an older tradition."  He looked away from Legolas and at the corralled horse.  "What a spirited animal."

      "I could say the same of you," Legolas commented wryly, turning away from the King to face the horse as well.  The beast must have known he was being watched, because he showed off a few more of his brutal force with kicks and neighs, though he was imperviously refusing to look at the pair of warriors.

      "Look at that cocky face," Eomer said, and Legolas could hear the delight in his tone, "Oh, he will learn."

      "Which makes him cleverer than you," Legolas kidded, "I once thought this was a battle of wills.  It isn't.  It's but a contest of who has the thicker head."

      "Isn't he magnificent?" Eomer asked, ignoring the barb, "And he knows it.  As all horses do.  You know, Legolas, they are fair, intelligent and equitable creatures.  All the battering they give you is how you earn their respect.  It's pre-payment, if you will.  They will happily and heartily give you a lifetime of the greatest servitude for a few days of earning their respect.  They cannot fathom taking orders from anyone lesser than them, you see.  The rules are so simple, and honest."  

      "There are other ways," Legolas told the King, his pride sparking, wanting to show the King his kin's own manner of subduing a horse.  He whistled to catch the mare's attention.  It was a strange, haunting melody.  The horse heard, paused its kicking.  It turned toward Legolas, contemplating him.  The horse hesitated, not wanting to seem kind to _anyone_, and at the same time enchanted by the hymn.

      Legolas looked into its deep eyes, ceased the music and let the horse do as it wished.  It seemed to blink just before resuming its rearing and thrashing with gusto.

      "I cannot say I am unimpressed," Eomer conceded, "But I do not find _convincing_ them or perhaps even _enchanting _them into submission as fair."

      "Ah," breathed Legolas, "That is why yours is still a kin that wars itself into 'agreements.'  Everything is a question of strength rather than reason."

      "Our lives are shorter," Eomer said wryly, "And along it you find that everyone has some good point or other.  Tackling them all and settling upon the best way of living takes time we cannot afford." 

      Legolas simply shrugged, accepting the idea as fair.  "Can you tell me the etymology of 'breaking' a horse? What is broken? It's will? It's spirit? Your bones?"

      Eomer mulled it over with a slight smile.  "Ha.  I suppose you know by now that you may spend an entire lifetime winning a person over and still never have them as loyal as a horse.  'Tis a mystery, isn't it? How these glorious beasts could resist so fervently one moment, and then suddenly be forever yours.  It's like a stroke of lightning.  Some may say it is indeed breaking a horse's spirit, but I believe otherwise.  I think the shattering is mutual, and you bind together at last.  One telling moment in time, can easily be missed by the blink of an eye, and then you find you belong to each other, you complete each other."

      Legolas stared at the horse.  He knew by experience that this breaking was not exclusive to that species, and he figured Eomer was all the less for not finding such a shattering and binding in his own kind.  Because he, an elf, certainly did.

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: silvertongue, elessar*lover, stoneage woman, gozilla, amy, grumpy, kirsten, dragonfly, LOTRfaith, sareh, barbara kennedy, platy, knight kenobi of eryn lasgalen, starlit hope and deana :)

Thanks everybody!!!

Not much of a confrontation, is it? :) that's because up to this point, they don't know how lethal the wounds are yet… that's for chapter 10 :) nine will be another strider memory :) 'til the next post guys!!!


	9. Strider: A Memory continued

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

9: Strider: A Memory III

_(A Stroke of Lightning)_

* * *

_Outskirts of Fornost, 3000_

* * *

      _Legolas__ looked up at the skies, almost just to reassure himself that the rain was falling from above… the winds blew the droplets of water so fiercely it was as if they were falling _sideways_!_

_      The storm, according to the barrister, was the worst the sleepy town has seen in years.  Legolas reckoned it's the worst he's _ever_ seen himself, and he knows he's seen much.  _

_      The town was situated at the base of a row of hills, next to a river.  They were near to thick woodlands, but the humble cluster of homes they have crafted for themselves were generally plains peppered by a tree here and there.  The town had a population of a few hundred.  These were a people who seemed to defy the pressing of the times, part of the stubbornly surviving scattered remnants of the fallen __kingdom__ of __Arnor__.  _

_      The prince and his contingent of Mirkwood soldiers emerged from the west, having come from bearing a message to the elven realms in Lindon.  They came to the town in search of some shelter, but instead were drafted toward saving the town from the rising waters of their river, and the threat of a landslide from their nearby hills._

_      The men folk of the town were already long at work by the time the elves of Mirkwood lent their strength into the fold.  Some were assigned to the filling of sacks with soil and sand.  Others were tasked with transporting some of the filled sacks to the riverbanks, some to the base of the hills.  The younger boys and a lot of the women were tasked with the gathering and rationing of the food; much of the crops have been destroyed by nature's onslaught and they will need to save their provisions for the weeks of lacking sure to come.  The children and the younger women were sheltered in the small town hall, preparing warming meals and heating blankets for those who worked to save their town._

_      The knowing way by which people darted to and fro toward their own duties was proof of how long this struggle has been ongoing.  But the people looked weary, and the storm showed no sign of relenting any time soon. _

_      Legolas and his soldiers gave aid by helping transport the sacks to the river and the hills; they were heavy, and elves were hardier than men folk.  The elements took very little out of them.  They made quick work of the sacks, especially with the added strength of their horses.  Legolas ordered his small group split in half between the two places of concern, and found himself delivering sand-filled sacks before a raging river._

_      The banks were already lined with two layers of sacks, but the water seemed to just rise and rise.  There were tens of men hard at work here, and as Legolas dismounted his horse and relieved it of its burdensome sack, he found a familiar face grabbing its other end._

_      His brows rose in recognition, and Strider blinked at him._

_      Grunting, the two old acquaintances wordlessly bore the weight of the sack and quickly moved to lay it upon the low, makeshift wall._

_      "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" Legolas told the Ranger._

_      "This is Arnor still," replied Strider as he caught his breath, "They are my people."_

_      "Yes, of course," said Legolas, "But I meant it more along the lines of bumping into you in the strangest of places and situations."_

_      "Ah," said Strider, his eyes lightening, "As you said before.  We are where we need to be."_

_      Legolas smiled slightly at him as the elf lifted himself up to his horse.  The man was soaked to the skin, shivering slightly and his hands had a multitude of cuts upon them.  He's obviously been hard at work for quite some time.  He offered the _adan_ a hand._

_      "Come," the elven prince commanded, "To town with you.  To warmth and rest.  You can afford it.  My soldiers and I shall provide extra hands.  You can order your men into the same respite."_

_      Strider hesitated.  "But there is much work to be done…"_

_      "There are many who could do it," Legolas said, insistently shaking his hand before Strider, "You can aid no one if you fall ill.  You know that elves can more than compensate for your efforts.  Hurry now.  _There is much work to be done!_"_

_      Strider took the elf's hand and pulled himself up, riding behind Legolas into town, chuckling slightly._

_      "What?" Legolas asked, craning his head to look at the _adan_._

_      "Nothing really," Strider replied, "I guess it's just funny."_

_      "What's funny?' Legolas inquired._

_      "I am where I need to be," Strider answered, "And curiously, now, as well as the last times we met, _you_ were always where _I_ needed you to be."_

_      "What's so funny about that?" Legolas asked, as they reached the cluster of homes and dismounted._

_      "I'm not sure," Strider admitted._

* * *

_      Hours later, Legolas blinked his eyes at the rain that obscured his vision.  The cursed _sky_ was falling, just _all _of it! The storm has been pestering the town seemingly endlessly!.  _

_      He stepped back from the makeshift wall he helped reinforce.  It would hold the ravages of the river, if only just a little while longer.  The clear of its waters had become a thick mud of deep red-brown from silt and soil.  Once in awhile, small-sized tree trunks would pass them by, more victims of the onslaught from somewhere upriver._

_      He sighed, and turned to look at the weary men and his own soldiers step back and survey their work.  The three-layered sack wall bought them some time to breathe, but they were by no means out of danger._

_      A young man with whom Legolas has been wordlessly working with these past hours suddenly found the time to stare at the prince in wonder._

_      "You're an elf," the boy said, awed._

_      Legolas found the heart to chuckle, turning his eyes to the boy.  "That I am."_

_      "I hadn't noticed," he confessed._

_      "I know," Legolas jested, "Well.  You've been very busy."_

_      The boy opened his mouth to say something, but his voice froze in his throat and his eyes widened in alarm.  Legolas looked behind him to see what this new worry was, and sensed the electrifying cackling of the air a breath before the clouds seemed to part for a single, crooked stroke of lightning to touch a tree below._

_      Wisely, many men who stood beneath the tree ran away in a rush.  But one fellow remained, just a shadow in the thick curtain of the rain, as a large, thick branch snapped with the force of the lightning and began to descend over his head._

_      "Get out of the way!" Legolas yelled, springing forward in a mad rush.  He tackled the _adan_ out of the way of the descending branch, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain of the twisted stems and smaller branches that scratched at his back.  As they hit the ground at a roll, he comforted himself that they at least missed the bulk of the thick branch._

_      Legolas pushed himself up to his knees, looking the man over.  _Strider_, he realized.  _

_      "You again," the _adan _greeted him lightly, though Strider seemed_ _rather embarrassed._

_      Since he seemed unscathed, Legolas therefore decided it would be fair game to scold him.  "You should be more cautious.  Or better yet, if you are hard of hearing and not careful, you should not be here at all. Did you not hear me call?"_

_      "I'm sorry," Strider said coolly, still mortified.  He rose to his feet and offered the elf his hand.  "I really am.  Thank you.  _Mellonamin_."___

_      Legolas blinked at the elven endearment.  It's been awhile since he's been called thus.  _Friend_… And after so long, it felt right that such words should come from this curious man, with his liquid silver eyes, who appeared at strange moments._

_      Legolas took the man's hand and pulled himself up, unsure of what to say, so he kept his mouth shut.  He was slightly bewildered at the things he was feeling.  Distracted and off-guard, he unknowingly winced at the soreness of his injured back._

_      Strider saw his discomfort, and turned Legolas' hand over and noticed the cuts and bruises from the fight with the storm and this most recent debacle.  _

_      "You're hurt," Strider remarked._

_      "Negligible," Legolas guaranteed him._

_      "It makes sense to have them seen to while we have time," Strider said evenly, "Come.  To town and warmth, eh?"_

_      Legolas glanced at the wall of sacks.  It will hold, for the next few hours._

_      They strode to the elf's horse and shared the steed.  Strider was chuckling again, and Legolas asked him if he was addled._

_      "No, no," Strider replied, "I was just thinking of something.  Are you cursed, by any chance?"  
      "I occasionally think so," Legolas replied wryly, "You come up with the strangest questions at the strangest of times—"_

_      "My brothers used to say that anyone charged with my well-being must be cursed," Strider shared._

_      "I'm not charged with your well-being," sighed Legolas melodramatically, "But you're right.  I am also finding things seem to be ending up that way."  
      They soon reached town.  Strider commandeered a tiny stock room in the town hall, and asked Legolas to sit upon a rickety old table.  _

_      "Are you kidding?" the elf asked him, wrinkling his pert nose._

_      "It will hold you," Strider promised._

_      Uneasily, Legolas sat.  The _adan_ was right, and the table did not protest his weight at all.  Strider divested him of the layers of his tunic, exposing his scratched and bruised back._

_      "I really am sorry," Strider told him._

_      "It's all right," Legolas told him evenly._

_      "No, really--," Strider said again._

_      "It's all right," Legolas repeated, "You know when we first met, I thought you were an intelligent boy.  But why must I keep repeating myself?"_

_      Strider smiled slyly at him, deftly working on his back, and then upon his hands.  The door behind the healer suddenly burst open with Legolas' right-hand man looking harried._

_      ~I heard you were injured, my lord!~ he exclaimed, his eyes raking over Legolas' face, ~What happened? Are you well?~_

_      ~I'm fine,~ Legolas assured him with a warm smile, ~The injuries are poor excuses for a respite.~_

_      ~All the men are worried, sire,~ the elven soldier told him, trying to crane his neck over Strider's shoulder to get a better look at the prince._

_      ~Halt!~ Legolas warned him, adapting a very regal tone, ~Take my word for it, captain.  These are just scratches.  Tell the soldiers so.~_

_      The elven captain gulped, and visibly paled.  ~A scratch, sire? Like your uh… _other_ scratches from before?~_

_      ~Yes, like before,~ Legolas replied._

_      ~That's not very comforting, sire,~ the other elf confessed._

_      ~I'll live, I promise,~ Legolas told him wryly, ~Off with you now.  I'll see you back at the river.~_

_      The soldier sighed melodramatically, but did as he was told and closed the door behind him.  Strider was watching the elven prince with amusement._

_      ~What?~ Legolas asked him testily._

_      ~Excuse him,~ Strider said mildly, ~They seem to be mad about you.  And… and well, I see that you seem much lighter toward them.~_

_      ~I took to heart what you said to me the last time we met,~ Legolas confessed, ~I have many lifetimes, I might as well try this tack of yours.  For awhile, that is.  If it works.~_

_      ~What did I say?~ Strider's brows furrowed in thought._

_      ~You said I lived as if I loved nothing at all,~ Legolas replied, ~A situation remedied, of course.  As you have seen.  Although the change was abrupt.   I could tell right after that my soldiers wanted to hurry home, as if they feared perhaps I've finally lost my mind.~_

_      ~Well you did take the advice of a crazy person,~ Strider said casually, winking at him and then continuing the work.  His hands upon Legolas' were warm and comforting, and it reminded the elf of how those very fingers once held his, and anchored him to life._

_      ~Thank you,~ Legolas said quietly._

_      Strider looked up at him and smiled warmly.  ~I owe you my life.  It's the least I could do.  That branch would have split my head open.~_

_      ~I don't know,~ Legolas said wryly, ~It seems a very sturdy, really rather thick head to me.~_

* * *

      _They shared a humble stewed meal upon an abandoned house's porch, as the rain continued to fall about the town, persistent but no longer threatening._

_      "You have to remind me," Legolas swallowed his food, rocking the weathered chair he was sitting on, "Remember last year you asked me to bear your messages to Rivendell?"_

_      "Ah, yes," Strider replied, "What of them?"_

_      "I have your replies," Legolas told him with a laugh, "Lord Elrond said I should bring them in case I run into you.  I don't know if it is just his common sense or a premonition.  Curious, curious thing though.  No letters from a ladylove."_

_      "Ha!" Strider retorted, "You're one to speak.  Unless you actually have one?"_

_      "No," Legolas replied, "But I have time."_

_      Strider chuckled helplessly, "You're nosy.  This is very unbecoming of a proper messenger."_

_      "Ah, but I'm just _incidentally_ a messenger," Legolas told him evenly, "It's the King's_ _doing.  My ada.  He's very practical.  I dart from one place to another with my data gathering work and people inevitably ask if I'm headed here or headed there and if I could bring this or that.  And so the King decided to give me two duties, since that was what I was doing anyway."_

_      "It makes sense," Strider commented wryly, "Why burden a soldier and give him his due later when a son would do twice the work for free?"_

_      Legolas chuckled.  "Why indeed.  You could learn a thing or two from King Thranduil, when you become King yourself.  Make several heirs and several spares.  And burden the youngest most useless one."_

_      "One must acquire a wife first," Strider pointed out._

_      "There is that," Legolas agreed, his sharp eyes noting a shift in the Ranger's glance.  "There might be a lady love after all," he murmured.  The _adan_ was going to try to deny, he really was.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Legolas turned his face away, deciding to spare him the misery.  He smiled at the slowing rain._

_      "Good job, Estel," he said wistfully, "Looks like we all managed to survive."_

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: cotume, MSL, dragonfly, Kelsey, jenzy, elessar*lover, platy, elveneyes, LOTRfaith, starlit hope, deana, knight Kenobi of eryn lasgalen, slea, tychen, sodalite, miss attitude.

To slea: wow, thank you.  haha, I'm so glad you find my OC likeable.  I always get afraid about my OC's.  they're like your babies, and people are not always receptive :)

To elessar*lover: no, unfortunately I don't own one.  I'm terrible at pets and things, I can only keep fishes alive, haha.  Although I've had a ton of memorable experiences with horses and they are magnificent :)

To Kelsey: I guess the only way I can try to better explain it is that the love that once kept him alive is killing him because he is so afraid to lose it.  the inevitability of this loss is magnified only post-war because he realizes he has no real enemy anymore, just a destiny he cannot change :)  the daughter of avia is just a little bit of a reminder of Estel, just like the whole fic is peppered by reminders.  You won't even be seeing her at all, much less seeing her take such a pivotal part of the story.  I'm to wary to come up with a legomance :) maybe one day, but not in this fic :)

THANKS EVERYBODY AND 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!  The next post takes us back to 3019, and eomer discovers at last just how serious the situation is.  'til then!!! 


	10. They Do Not Heal

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

10: They Do Not Heal 

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

_      Elf and man, admittedly friends after the storm, took their leave of each other and swore to one day actually will to see each other and have a meal or a lager (hopefully a meal, Legolas mused), rather than to have fate constantly arrange such things for them._

_      Up until 3017, however, it was word yet to be redeemed; life pulled them apart and tossed their ways across Middle-Earth with their respective duties.  It would be these very duties that would bring them together once again._

_      The Prince returned to Mirkwood after quite a long stretch of months of travel, and coincidentally, a Ranger had just been tossed into the Mirkwood dungeons as a suspicious stranger._

_      Sure enough, it was Strider who had come through Mirkwood bearing a captive; the creature Gollum.  Legolas was ushered into the dungeons to find the _adan_ seated upon the ground with the creature singing and dancing around him, appreciating the irony that he now shared captivity with the man who caught him._

_      Naturally, Legolas vouched for Strider's character and arranged for his release.  Although… that sorry sight of him being mocked by a noisy little ghoul was comical and one he would remember astutely for quite some time.  He brought Strider to the healer's for some cuts and bruises, and he looked more ill at ease in the hands of these keen-eyed elves than in prison._

_      "These are not from us, I hope," Legolas said contritely, glacial eyes roving over the hurts._

_      "Oh, no," Strider assured him, "I saw the Mirkwood colors and surrendered right away.  Some of these are from the foul little beast you've just seen, and then some are from a few orcs we've encountered along the way."_

_      "I'm sorry for the suspicion," said Legolas, "We've learned to be cautious."_

_      "I make no complaints," Strider told him, "Except for this business with the healers.  The wounds are trivial."_

_      "It pays to be cautious in this respect too," Legolas told him, though the prince looked to the older elven healers and dismissed them with a nod.  His deft hands took over the stitching and bandaging._

_      "My father will see you this __noon__," Legolas said as he worked upon the Ranger's injuries, "Please be forthcoming with him.  He will expect nothing less than to be told all that he wants to know."_

_      "A fair request," Strider said, lowering his voice and looking over Legolas' work, "Since these things concern him too.  The being who remains in your dungeon is called Gollum.  And it is believed he's had the Ring in possession for quite a lot of time."_

_      "The Ring?" Legolas looked up quickly, making Strider wince for he unknowingly tightened the pull upon his wound-stitching as well._

_      "Sorry," Legolas laughed, embarrassed, "Stop moving."_

_      "Me?!" the Ranger exclaimed._

* * *

      Aside from the insanity, aversion to the healers was one more trait he shared with his old _mellon_.  The memory of 3017 was just one amongst many that reminded him of _this_ very moment…

      "You've a very thick head, don't you?" the healer Avia asked him testily.  The elf stubbornly stood his ground, looming over her with a glowering expression.  The two were testing their wills in his room.

      "I will not suffer any more of your poking and prodding, ma'am," he told her for the nth time; Legolas hated having to repeat himself.

      "Do not use that royal temper on me," she snapped, "I am no servant of yours.  The King of Rohan is my master.  And as his word stands I ought to keep you alive.  Much as I may desire to strangle you right now."

      "They are the most superficial of cuts!" he retorted, "You've seen them yourself.  They need time, not your useless prying.  Ma'am."

      She glared at him, and released a frustrated breath.  This was a will that cultivated itself over an age-long lifetime filled with struggle.  It was cast in iron, written in stone.  His eyes were steely and cold, and determined.  Perhaps she ought to try a different tack…

      "I will be honest with you, Prince Legolas," she said, more meekly, "You do not look well to me at all.  Please.  If anything should befall you in my care, the King will never forgive me."

      The tone was unusual for the high-strung, high-prided old woman.  It almost made Legolas smile.  "Unbecoming," he murmured, teasing her.

      Avia narrowed her eyes at him in irritation, "So now you try for charm.  Come now, please.  Stop acting like a child."

      He frowned, wondering how he was going to escape her.  And _all_ of _this_.  There was that blasted storm, and then running into Eomer, and then Butter died and it seemed as if the world was conspiring toward keeping him here.  But the closer Rohan came to discovering his secret the more he desired to _flee_…

      Footsteps outside his door alerted him to the arrival of the majordomo.  Legolas eagerly welcomed the man before he could even knock.

      "Enter," Legolas commanded, stepping towards the door and tossing Avia a jaunty smile, knowing he had just escaped her.  _For now_…

      "Lunch, sir," the majordomo said, "The King expects you."

      "He must not be disappointed," Legolas said gravely, twitching a brow at Avia.  She seemed unfazed.

      "Oh, he won't be, I'm sure," she told him flatly, moving past him and out the door.

* * *

      "I was thinking of leaving tomorrow," Legolas said tentatively to Eomer over the lunch he mostly just toyed with.

      "At your pleasure," Eomer said, "I shall provide you with a good horse.  Provided of course… You are well now?"

      "Yes," Legolas lied, putting a big glob of admittedly delectable Rohan fare into his mouth.

      Eomer was looking at him suspiciously, but bit his tongue over the issue.  "I've waylaid you long enough."

      "On the contrary," Legolas told him with a slight smile, "I'm always afraid I'm taking up too much of your time."

      "We owe you much," Eomer guaranteed him, "Do not worry about being an imposition."

      Legolas lowered his utensils, and Eomer looked at him pointedly.  The elf hurriedly said, "Oh the food is incredible.  It's just me.  As I've mentioned before."  

      The King favored him with a sidelong glance before finally saying, "You do not look well, Legolas.  You do not look as you used to.  Not as… not as formidable."

      "My journeys have made me hardier," Legolas told him, "The road was long.  It is long still.  And…" he laughed nervously, "I _am_ getting old, you know."

      "It's not that," Eomer said, "And you know it.  I will not release you until Avia declares it safe to do so."

      "I come and go as I please," Legolas retorted, that stubborn chin reflexively jutting up in reaction to the perceived imprisonment.

      "I will not be defied here," the King of Rohan told him tightly.

      "Last I checked you were King," Legolas snapped, "Not tyrant."

      "Check again," Eomer said tersely, practically daring him to say more along the lines of their defiant conversation.

      Legolas' eyes glinted dangerously, but he bit his tongue and reached for his goblet.  He downed the wine in a large gulp.

      "I must leave," he muttered.

      Eomer took a deep breath.  "Then let one of my men accompany you.  Legolas, seriously.  Something happens to you along this road of yours and Aragorn will never forgive me.  And I cannot forgive myself."

      "I've long been able to travel alone," Legolas pointed out, and the words sprung curiously heavily and slowly from his mouth.  The world was slowing down, it seemed, and his body was beginning to feel heavier.  With dread and mortification, he wondered if this was the end of his charade at last…

      _No_, he thought determinedly, _Hold on_…

      His hands clutched tightly at the edges of the table, an anchor in a world that seemed to be hurriedly slipping from him.

      "Legolas?" Eomer asked him uncertainly.

      The corners of his vision blurred into indistinct lines and blended, cloudy colors.  He hurriedly rose to his feet.  

      "I'm sleepy," he declared, and made a brave effort to step away, except his legs helplessly folded beneath him and he fell back to his seat.  Eomer rose from his own place and hovered over him worriedly.

      "Tell me what's wrong," he said urgently, before exclaiming to his majordomo, "Get Avia—"

      "No need, sire," Legolas heard the woman say as she appeared by the dining hall.  "He was being stubborn.  I just slipped something in his drink."

      "What?!" the King exclaimed, "Oh for the love of all that is good, woman!"  A string of curses in the King's native tongue.  And maybe in a rather impressive smattering of three other dialects Legolas never heard before.  _Smart man_.

      Legolas' vision dimmed.  He was not sure if it was more because of the drug or more because of his profound irritation.

* * *

      It was his sense of touch that returned before anything else.  He was lying in bed, and he knew he was in his own room from the familiar contours of the mattress.  A thick blanket laid heavily over him, and for a moment he pondered shifting away from it— the layered comforter was a weighty burden over his chest, but the warmth it provided was needed and welcomed.

      There seemed to be other people in the room, and he could hear them speaking in hushed tones.  Instinct kept his eyes closed; the rule in capture was allways to be aware of the enemy before they were aware of you.

      _Capture?__ Enemy?!_ He suddenly realized, _Who__ was I talking about_?

      "I do not understand it, sire," the familiar voice of a woman…

      _Avia_, Legolas concluded, _and Eomer_.

      He kept his silence and decided that he had indeed been captured, he was indeed imprisoned, and he was very much in the heart of 'enemy' territory.

      _Good as their intentions may be_, he conceded grudgingly.

      "He looks ill," he heard the King say.

      "I've seen to his wounds sire," she said, "They are not supposed to be serious except… except… well.  To put it plainly, they do not heal."

      "What do you mean they do not heal?" Eomer asked.

      "They just bleed," she replied, "They do not cease or close.  They just bleed.  As harshly now as when I saw to him days ago.  This is not merely irregular for a _mere_ man, this is even more of an anomaly for an elf.  I've treated some in Helm's Deep, my lord.  The gravest of their wounds I've seen _at least_ partly healed in a day!" she exhaled, "These wounds of the Prince are comparatively far shallower, yet they do not cease.  I do not understand it, sire.  This defies all of my past experience, and anything I've seen in our books."

      "What are you saying, Avia?' the King asked her.

      "I…" she hesitated, "Maybe if he just had some bed rest.  Kept from much movement, I don't know—"

      "What are you saying?" the King pressed, "Do not mince words, Avia.  I am no fool."

      "If this does not cease," she declared, "He will die."

      _Thank you_, Legolas thought wryly, knowing her cunning tongue just stopped short of saying he was _actually_ already dying.

      A silence fell over them and Legolas knew their eyes descended over his body.  He felt pinned on the spot, and he kept his body still, fervently pretending to be asleep.  The exercise was proving to be interesting.  It felt as if he was already fleeing his body, forcing it to stay still even as his mind raced and flew.

      _Practice_, his morbid humor decided.

      "When will he wake?" Eomer asked.

      "Within the hour," Avia replied, "Maybe two."

      _Great_, Legolas thought, profoundly disappointed that he could not pretend and delay facing them for any more than two hours.  He did not want to have to deal with their questions and their pity and their well-meaning worry.  For the Valar's sake he set out to be alone _precisely_ to avoid this ridiculous circus.

      "I want to send for Elessar," Eomer said quietly.

      Legolas could not help it.  His eyes snapped open.    

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: noone, andruill043, silvertongue, tychen, grumpy, MSL, stoneage woman, platy, barbara kennedy, xiad rusco, cotume, amy, deana, amthramiel, dragonfly, 

To silvertongue: wow, thanks :) I was worried she wouldn't be much liked.  I'm glad that's not the case :)

To tychen: ok, I'll let the cat out of the bag… Aragorn appears in the last chapter or second to the last chapter of the story :)

To stoneage woman: as always I am astounded by your accuracy :) thanks so much for taking the time.  I'll hopefully be better in the next few chappies :)

To xiad rusco: I'm sure it won't last too long!!! Good luck :)

To cotume: actually I've never heard of that show :) I'll have to look it up 'cos you sound happy, haha :)


	11. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

11: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory I

* * *

_Rivendell__, 3018_

* * *

      _The Prince of Mirkwood had his uncharacteristically hunched back to the door of one of the rooms in the houses of healing, sitting on a bench and grudgingly suffering the unwanted attention of yet another healer.  The older Rivendell elf excused himself for a moment and walked away.  The prince was, of course, not unhappy to see him go, and occupied himself with the raw beauty that was Imladris with the glorious view that graced his window._

_      Behind him, he heard approaching footsteps.  They were quiet and discrete, but he could tell from its curiously familiar beat that this was not the elf from moments ago.  He did not bother to turn and face the new arrival; he cared little for this healing business as it was.  He only wished they would usher him into Lord Elrond's audience soon, that he may convey his urgent message._

_      ~I think I see the weight of the world on your shoulders,~ the newcomer commented.  The voice and the tone carved a smile into Legolas' face.  Then again, this was Estel and there was hardly anything new about that.  He, however, chose to keep his back on the man.  The _adan_ was overconfident as it was…_

_      ~So we see each other again,~ Legolas sighed melodramatically, ~It's been a year, Estel.  And now I see you and it's a year too soon.~_

_      ~Ha,~ the man replied jauntily, ~I'd believe that if not for the smile I hear upon your face.~_

_      Legolas turned to face him and said wryly, ~I really don't know why I bother.~_

_      Estel smiled at him, and laid warm palms over his shoulders, willing him to face the window.  Legolas complied without complaint; as healers went, Estel was not particularly easy to deal with in the sense that he _never_ let Legolas go with his foolish assurances of not needing help.  Estel just took getting used to and Legolas was comfortable with him by now._

_      ~The wounds on your arm look well,~ Estel murmured, ~Oh, you do get into a lot of trouble.~_

_      ~Don't be a hypocrite,~ Legolas chided, ~Last year when you visited Mirkwood, you recall it was _I_ who was tending to you.~_

_      ~Ah yes,~ said Estel, ~That little incident.~_

_      They fell silent as Estel applied fresh bandages to the wound.  The elf who was previously treating Legolas re-entered the room and Estel assured him that he had things well in control.  The elven healer smiled and walked away._

_      ~Speaking of that,~ Legolas said uncertainly, ~__I was going to inform your father first but… I suppose you have as much of a right to know, it being that it was you who caught Gollum that time and delivered him to Mirkwood for our safekeeping… what I'm trying to say is… well, we were recently attacked.  And he escaped.  I do not know if the attack was engineered precisely toward that end, or if he simply took advantage of the moment.  But he is gone.~_

_      ~These wounds are from that melee I assume,~ Estel murmured, seemingly unfazed._

_      ~Yes,~ Legolas replied, ~I'm sorry.  You entrusted him to us.  We did everything we could, but the forces of the enemy are strong and ever gaining more power.  We even hunted for him and--~_

_      ~Do not apologize,~ Estel told him evenly, ~It's all right, Legolas.  These things happen.~_

_      Legolas took a deep breath and nodded as Estel finished.  The _adan_ stepped back and Legolas reclaimed his robes from a nearby table, slipping them on and watching Estel's face._

_      ~You've much on your mind,~ Legolas commented._

_      ~Remember I said to you years ago, that you seemed to be wherever I needed you to be?~ Estel asked him with a wistful expression on his face, ~That first time, I was seven and sick.  That second time, you halted what could have been a disastrous duel.  That third time you helped me bury my dead.  And that fourth time you helped save my people from a flood, and me from a uh…~ he smiled in embarrassment, ~a rather murderous tree branch.  And then I remember just last year, when I captured the creature Gollum in the Dead Marshes.  I passed through Mirkwood and your soldiers imprisoned me fearing I was some kind of a spy.  You were there too.  You're so seldom in your kingdom, I know, and you were there when I need you to be there.  And now here we both are.  _I'm_ seldom here at home too, but fate would have it that we are once again together and I am once again in need.  Are you by any chance getting sick of my face?~_

_      ~Don't worry,~ Legolas told him with a smile, though his forehead creased in worry, ~I will let you know when that happens.~_

_      ~_If_ it happens,~ Estel corrected him primly._

_      ~It _will_,~__ Legolas teased him, before adopting a more serious tone, ~What do you need me for, Estel? I've noticed the House seems… electrified.  A flurry of arrivals, all these strangers walking to and from rooms and places with curious expressions on their faces.  You know I think I even arrived just ahead of a group of dwarves!~_

_      ~We've come to a point where things could go very well, or very ill,~ Estel replied with a wince, ~We are going to make history my friend, for all of its good and bad.~_

_      Legolas watched him with a sidelong glance.  ~You speak in riddles to me, Estel.~_

_      ~Do you feel it, Legolas?~ the _adan _asked, ~The way things are moving.  Quicker, more vicious.  The air takes on a more desperate tone.  It's going to come to a head soon.~_

_      ~It shouldn't matter,~ Legolas told him evenly, ~It's just one more storm to weather, isn't it?~_

_      Estel smiled at him.  The elf didn't yet know what he was talking about.  But _he_ was not called 'Estel' for nothing.  _

_      ~Yes,~ he agreed, ~You're right.  Just one more.~_

* * *

      _Hours later he knew precisely why even the ever optimistic Estel seemed at odds over the situation they now all faced, willingly or otherwise.  Legolas thought back to the events earlier in the morning._

_____

_      "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old._ You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor," Lord Elrond had said some hours ago in his Council, "Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom…"

      Ah, that blasted ring, _Legolas__ had thought, _it was only a matter of time before it resurfaced and reminded us all of our folly.__

_____

      _Legolas__ sat upon the bed of the guest suite.  It was the same one from years and years ago, he remembered, staring at the wall in front of him, mulling about the trouble he's gotten into since._

____   _

"The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom," Lord Elrond had said, "Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came…"

___

      _Legolas__ had a profound understanding of what had to be done.  It was an old lore, of course, of which most elves were well-aware of.  But it was not a sentiment widely shared, and he dreaded the company of crazy insurrectionists who had _no idea_.  Nevertheless, it was the company he had to keep.  He made a promise, and he never goes back on his promises.  What irked him was that undesirable company unfortunately made the same oaths._

___

      "If by my life or death I can protect you," Aragorn had said, "I will.  You have my sword."

      "And you have my bow," declared Legolas.

      "And my axe!" joined the dwarf.  Legolas looked at him miserably.  He wished the dwarf had spoken sooner than he.  Perhaps if Gimli Gloin's son had done so, the elf prince wouldn't have bothered to throw himself as well into the situation.  

      Or so he would like to think… 

      He glanced at Aragorn, who was looking at him wistfully.  Legolas realized the _adan_ probably expected him to come along.  It was both touching and irritating.  He averted his gaze.  Nevertheless, it was an expectation that seemed to pain him to disappoint.

___

It's just as well_, Legolas thought, turning away from the wall and sorting out his belongings.  The Fellowship of the Ring made for an almost comically suicidal picture of insane hopefuls.  Success was a distant dream, but at least he knew he could keep them alive, even for just some time.  _

_      His warrior's heart desperately desired to have a more efficient unit, but the wildly optimistic group was also awakening a romantic idealist inside of him that he was not overly familiar with.  _Maybe it could work.  _Stranger things have been known to happen._

_      The wall shifted, and he was not at all surprised to find that the grown-up Aragorn had as much of an affinity for the secret ways as the seven-year-old Estel._

_      "Grow up, will you?" Legolas told him wryly._

_      Aragorn smiled at him, but mostly ignored the barb as he stepped into the room.  He looked over Legolas' doings.  "Getting ready, I see."_

_      "The road will be long," Legolas said evenly, "We will be much… burdened.  What we bring with us deserves a lot of thought."_

_      "Do you think this is crazy?' Aragorn suddenly blurted out._

_      "Yes," Legolas replied, not missing a beat, "We have four hobbits with us on our way to _Mordor_, Aragorn.  It's not a very intelligent question."  
      "They are more able than you think," Aragorn pointed out, "But I understand your meaning.  But you must know that this mission takes more heart than skill.  Of that they have stock in country-loads."_

_      "If you've already come with all the answers," Legolas told him wryly, "Why do you ask me questions?"_

_      "I want to make sure I'm not…" Aragorn shook his head in dismay, "I already know what I think and what I feel, you see.  And I cannot change my heart much as I may want to.  But what I do not know, is if my thinking and feeling is the thinking and feeling of a crazy person.  I will not bring the little ones into a mad situation that means certain death and certain failure."_

_      "I know," Legolas said evenly, "I know, _mellon_.  I know.  Do not doubt," a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "It's unbecoming of a man named Estel."_

_      "Well I've always wanted to be Lucky instead," Aragorn said, appreciating the lightheartedness._

_      "I know," Legolas smirked._

_      "Don't you know a lot," Aragorn said wryly._

_      "And besides," said Legolas, "It's a little too late to be entertaining these doubts now."_

_      "Too late in the game," Aragorn agreed._

_      "Well yes but," Legolas told him good-naturedly, "It's more because it's too late _in your life_.  You're a constantly hopeful fool."_

_      "Ah," Aragorn smiled, "But who follows the fool is likely more foolish."_

_      "Then you're in good company," Legolas concluded.  Eight more fools to follow him.  _The Fellowship of the Ring_, he mused, _I really would rather be called Fellowship of the Lucky myself.

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: lady jannelly, sirnonenath, silvertongue, starlit hope, demoness, elrohir lover, arayelle lynn, MSL, po-pla, tychen, amy, ws, xiad rusco, stoneage woman, keithan, amthramiel, barbara kennedy, lotrfaith, kept-secret, platy, the-serious-padfoot, elessar*lover, halandleg4ever, dragonfly, knight Kenobi of eryn lasgalen, 

To demoness: actually, I may or may not kill him.  Those who've asked me before were replied to with initially an assurance that this fic will end with his death.  But as always, things could change and especially given the requests not to, I'm a bit more iffy now :)

To arayelle lynn: right now, I'm concretely seeing 18 chapters.  But I want it to be 20.  Aragorn appears by the 18th :)

To po-pla: don't worry about not reviewing :) I'm just so happy you read at all! :)

Xiad rusco: wow, good for you!!! one of these days, I'll certainly be able to find the time to do so :) good luck!!!

THANKS EVERYONE!!!

THE NEXT POST will be continuing with 3019, right after Legolas opened his eyes in chapter 10.  'til then!!!


	12. Convincing

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

12: Convincing

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

      Maybe Lucky had been Estel's middle name—_he just didn't know about it_-- Legolas wasn't sure.  One Peregrin Took's fine fortune sure contributed too, and this hobbit's life was a rather fine argument for favoring luck over intelligence.

      Either way… the Fellowship traveled from frozen peaks to deep caverns, wide plains to dense forests, great palaces and fields of battle.  Mostly they emerged alive.  More than anything, against all odds, they managed to succeed.

      But so far he had no cause to believe the word had ever even manifested itself in _his _life.  For instance… his eyes snapped open and fell right into the cast-iron gaze of the King of Rohan.

      Avia murmured some vague excuse.  It was almost certainly a lie, but Legolas didn't really mind.  The retreat was admittedly one he desperately desired to make himself.

      The door clicked shut behind the healer, and a heavy silence fell between the King of Rohan and the Prince of Mirkwood.  

      Legolas held Eomer's gaze as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.  He did not want to be looked down upon.  Eomer watched him, offered no hand.  The King did not wish to infringe upon that legendary elven pride, nor compromise his position by appearing too kind.  It was a courtesy, he supposed, between warriors… And indeed, a war of words was in the works.  

      "You're dying," Eomer told him flatly, watching his face.

      "I know," Legolas said evenly.

      "You said nothing of it," Eomer snapped, "I'm very… displeased."

      "I was merely passing through," Legolas pointed out, "I did not consider it to be any business of yours."

      A flash of pain crossed Eomer's fiercely burning eyes, quickly concealed but not nearly quickly enough.  "Is it not the business of friends to know such things, or am I too presumptuous to expect that I number among those of yours?"

      "It's no one's business but my own," Legolas replied quietly.

      "It's my business now," the King said with finality, "I am sending for Elessar.  He knows more of the healing arts of your kind, for one.  And if there is really nothing else to do, he should be here with you, or would know who to send for."

      "Please don't," Legolas… _begged_.  _I hate that word_.  All his life he cannot recall any instance when he had to ask for things in this manner.  But, well, he was fading and really… _If there is a time to do things that I've never done before, this would be it_.

      Eomer caught the unfamiliar tone as well, and knew from the elf's averted gaze just how much that may have cost.

      "I cannot remain silent," Eomer argued, "And anyways your presence here is already well-documented.  My soldiers have seen you.  Or maids, our stable boys, our riders, our cooks.  He will eventually know.  So you really might as well."

      "I do not wish him to be here," Legolas said, "_I_ do not wish to be here.  If you would not allow me to leave, then please just do this much for me."

      "No word or allegiance binds me to you," Eomer snapped, run out of other words to say to that tone that asked for theoretically so little—to _not_ do anything.  _How hard is that supposed to be_? But it was, and the entire situation was leaving a foul taste in his mouth, and a rather heavy feeling in his weathered heart. 

      There was a pain that crossed the elf's eyes, this time, and it was quickly concealed too although of course, not nearly quickly enough.  Eomer caught it cleanly, and contritely averted his own gaze.

      "For god's sake, Legolas," Eomer ran his hand through his sandy hair, "They deserve to know."

      "I do not want to cause ripples in the water," Legolas said, "All is well now.  If you must let him know, then kindly do so _after the _fact."

      _After I die_, he meant.

      "Besides," Legolas continued, "There is nothing to be sad about.  Is it not considered a fine blessing to die in a time of peace?"

      "Usually," Eomer replied, "But not this way.  _You_ for instance, are not even supposed to die _at all_.  What is this affliction of yours? Do you even know? Have you even checked? Perhaps there are things to do still, that you've not yet tried."

      "There is nothing to do that I've not tried," Legolas answered, chuckling humorlessly, "Would you believe if I said I was afflicted with a heart that is breaking?"

      Eomer's eyes narrowed in thought; he was not so much contemplating the question, as much as he was wondering where Legolas was taking this conversation.

      "It's ridiculous, I know," the elf said, wringing his wrists nervously, "Its theoretically embarrassing.  I hate weakness.  I despise needfulness.  But it is what it is.  All beings must face a challenge of some sort.  Our bodies have mastered the perils of this material Earth; it is only logical for our harsher battles to be set in some other place."

      "The heart," Eomer said flatly, "Then is healing not simply therefore an act of willing?"

      "The _damn_ heart does what it does," Legolas sighed, "Excuse the language.  I suppose I've been feeling rather let down by it lately.  It's a cursed _insurrectionist_.  It thinks it's apart from all the rest of me.  It wants its own way."

      "What way is that?" Eomer asked.

      "It loves without end," Legolas replied, "Though unfortunately it loves things that do."

      Eomer stared at the elf.  He was beginning to understand the burden of his immortality.  It was probably why most of his kin wisely kept to themselves.  This elven prince, on the other hand, formed ridiculous attachments to beings that would surely die long before he himself passes.  

      "I'm sorry to burden you," Legolas said quickly, "I cannot understand it either.  I've had it before.  I lived past it, but, well… its return is not a surprise to me."

      "So there is a cure," Eomer pointed out.

      "There _was_ a cure," Legolas replied, "It was Aragorn.  It was his caring that kept me alive before, but it is this same caring that kills me now.  I fear to lose.  Yet I know I will.  It was only a matter of time.  He was just a single stitch struggling to bridge a mile long wound a mile apart."

      "So he will die, eventually," Eomer argued, "And shortly thereafter, your grief will most likely take you.  But why rush, if you are anyways headed that way? Or for that matter, why perish _here_, when a haven one like myself can only dream of is so closely within your reach? You know of what I speak.  That elven haven beyond the sea.  You could just leave and spare yourself…" his hands flailed about him vaguely, "_All this_."

      "Much as all of this pains me," said Legolas, "I cannot bear to leave.  Anywhere I go I would still be who I am.  From myself, there is no running.  Though it is comforting to presume they might have _athelas_ for the soul in Valinor, I cannot believe I would emerge subdued and freed from these pains as still distinctly myself… I cannot divorce this from the entirety of my being."

      "Eomer," he sighed, after a quiet moment, "I did not come here for convincing, do you not think I've already thought of every reason imaginable? Every smattering of hope that I could possibly find? I need something _of myself_ to survive this.  That which will give me strength even when I stand alone.  Because ultimately, that is what I am going to be.  _Alone_.  If I cannot save myself on my own then I might as well let this passing happen, because Elessar, or anyone else who can spare me this ridiculous grief will not always be around.  I've crossed your lands because Rohan has seen the worst of my days and the hardiest of my spirit.  If I cannot find my _own _strength here, then it lies nowhere."

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: MSL, hermes09, amy, starlit hope, jedi cosmos, gissela, gollum's fish, tychen, platy, kit cloudkicker, stoneage woman, elessar*lover, dragonfly, LOTRfaith, morgan, amthramiel, halandleg4ever, knight kenobi of eryn lasgalen, barbara kennedy, sundiata and deana.

To MSL: wow, when is your birthday? It won't be more than 20 chapters :)

To gollum's fish: you're right, haha, I thought you were going to say something terrible.  My heart skipped a beat there, haha :)

To tychen: I'm sorry for making you sad!!! :)

THE NEXT POST will take us back to Legolas' memories of Rohan.  A have this great weakness for movie gap-fillers :) so the next chapter goes to Helm's Deep :) 'TIL THEN!!!

THANKS EVERYONE!!!


	13. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory conti...

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

13: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory II

_(The Worst of My Days, the Hardiest of My Spirit)_

* * *

_Helm's Deep, 3018_

* * *

      Leave the dead_, Legolas thought bitterly, _What a fool.  It is much easier said than done.

      Is there no corner of this blasted fortress where one could find some peace?_ He wondered, walking about the massiveness of Helm's Deep, finding most spaces occupied.  His body was aching to burst with his unhappiness, yet he did not find the idea of doing so before _everyone_ very appealing._

_      The ride to Rohan, and from one point to another within it was likely the longest journey he ever took in his life.  He ran here with Gimli the Dwarf and Aragorn in pursuit of orcs that took their companions captive.  Along this road he befriended the dwarf.  Along this road he thought two friends lost, only to discover they still lived.  And another friend thought lost, the wizard Mithrandir, was restored to them as well.  _

So many losses_, he reflected.  Admittedly fate was a clever trickster, constantly giving him a taste of deprivation and then returning his friends to him.  _Just borrowing_, he seemed to say, and would laugh at his grief.  He took Merry and Pippin.  He took Mithrandir.  Fate restored them all, yet he took two others who would not be making the same journey back to Legolas._

Boromir.  Aragorn_.___

_      He's never felt so much resentment in his life.  _

Leave the dead, leave the dead_… _

For god's sake, it wasn't that easy.

_      He walked away from the thick of the people.  Their fears were choking him.  He had his own to deal with, they can keep theirs to themselves…_

_      The road to the fortress was possibly the longest ride of all.  He remembered, how it was that step by step took him further from where a friend fell.  He remembered even more clearly, how all he could stand to think of was that his shoulders must not shake, the body must not tremble, because the dwarf clung to his back as they rode and he would be smart enough to put things together._

_      There was just so many things to do and the loss of Aragorn somehow seemed to render them monumentally impossible.  Each step was a burden.  Each sympathetic gaze that met his were unbearable._

_      He stepped into the armory, just as a soldier stepped out.  It was empty of people but stuffy with articles of war, and it had that distinctly persistent stink of armor and weapons that have just been cleaned _(though not particularly well) _of blood._

_      He ran his hands among the armor that lined the wall.  One set was of handsome dark leather, still moist from washing, seemingly just hung.  There was a ragged tear over the heart, hurriedly sewn over with unglamorous, thick and wide stitches that were almost just as dark as the leather.  He could feel it beneath his fingers, more than he could see.  The bumps of the thread in repetitive, hurried motions… Legolas was certain the strike must have been lethal and when the defenses of this fortress would call for the arms of Rohan, this armor would fall to the hands of some other warrior._

_      There were many others like it, and other signs of a history of struggle.  Weathered blades, broken knives, weapons stolen from orcs, tattered armor, armor so old they must have once belonged to fathers and grandfathers and now borne by sons…_

_      The room was heady with history, and death, and active defiance.  They were a strong people, but they were all unfortunately _a waste_._

This will end soon_, Legolas predicted_, And I'm standing on the wrong side of the fence.__

_      His eyes drifted back to the black armor with the torn heart.  Aragorn did not even leave them with such a memento.  He fell, and he vanished, and though the death lacked finality, it was a chapter over and done with.  It was just that way._

Leave the dead_, Theoden had ordered._

If only they could leave us_, Legolas thought._

Who owned you_? he wondered, reaching out for the armor, _Who joins my friend to those promised places where I could not go? 

      _His hand fell to his side, and he stepped back, surveying the room that was all at once painfully empty and stiflingly full.  He sat upon the table at the center of the room.  _

_      It was as good a place as any to wait for the world to end._

* * *

      _But it didn't._

_      The crazy _adan_ returned with his usual flair.  The people of Rohan caught him first, and the dwarf pushed his way forward to greet him with a choking embrace._

_      The murmurs and the general chaos that always ushered in the arrival of the _adan _pretty much anywhere he went was what broke through the silence of the armory, and brought Legolas out to see what was happening._

_      He nearly collided with a ghost._

_      ~You're late,~ he found the voice to say._

* * *

      _Hours later, he finally had Aragorn to himself.  The King of Rohan allowed him the use of the royal quarters to rest and freshen himself up if he so desired.  It was one of the few remaining unoccupied spaces in Helm's Deep, for which Aragorn was grateful._

_      The _adan_ sat before the fire, his bruised back to the door.  The warmth was comforting, and the silence of the room was lulling him to a much-needed sleep._

_      He started at the opening of the door, and whipped to find Legolas frowning at him with grave displeasure._

_      "What?" Aragorn asked._

_      "I'll fetch a healer," Legolas said, turning on his heel._

_      Aragorn hurriedly rose to his feet, wincing at the soreness of his battered body, "Legolas, please don't."_

_      "I can't see why I shouldn't," Legolas told him distractedly, peering out the door and looking up and down the corridor for someone to bother with calling a healer._

_      Aragorn gently laid a hand upon the elf's elbow and pulled him into the room, then quietly closed the door behind them._

_      "Your stubbornness should not be indulged in this situation, Estel," said Legolas evenly, "These people need you at full strength, for later."_

_      "They need me for much more than that," Aragorn insisted fervently, "They cannot know I am even just _slightly _incapacitated.  If I am to share in Theoden's command, they have to be assured that I am capable.  That we can win."_

_      The elf frowned at him.  And then sighed in defeat.  A grin spread across Aragorn's face._

_      "Don't smile like that," Legolas snapped, "It makes me feel… I don't know.  Never mind.  Just don't."_

_      "Like you lost?" Aragorn inquired, blinking at the elf innocently._

_      "Like I want to punch you," Legolas retorted, "Sit down."_

_      Aragorn did as he was told, reclaiming his place by the fire and watched as Legolas rummaged about the room, gathering herbs and bandages as he spoke distractedly, "Now you know I'm not particularly good at this," said the elf, "but it's far better than nothing."_

_      "It's far better than most things," Aragorn smiled, letting himself be tended to._

_      The elf busied his hands with seeing to his old friend's injuries.  They seemed to map the struggles that this particular misadventure sent Aragorn through, and he unknowingly released a shaky breath._

_      "Ah," said Aragorn, a wistful tone to his voice, "I think your lung dropped to the ground there."_

_      Legolas did not respond for a long moment.  He was unsure of what to say.  Aragorn was just about to give up on awaiting a reply when he suddenly blurted out, "I thought you were dead."_

_      The _adan_ could hear the quiet sadness in the elf's voice, struggling to hide beneath a smattering of that old, resentful coldness he had long thought vanquished.    _

_      "That's very clever of you to have deduced," Aragorn said mildly, although there was some desperation to avert the tone there too, "I mean, there had been a warg.  And a flip over a not-so-humble cliff.  The waters below were rather rough with rocks, and pretty cold—" he cut himself off, because Legolas stopped working and he began to wonder what kind of trouble he may have landed into._

_      "Please, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly, "Let me…"_

Let me take this lightly…

      _"You don't have to pretend with me," Legolas said, ~I hate death,~ he added quietly, reverting to his own language.  His hands began to work again.  Deftly, quickly, mechanically._

_      The elf struggled with a wince of a smile.  The _adan_ already had much to worry about without his trivial uncertainties._

_      "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "Ignore me please."_

_      "Well it's quite understandable," said Aragorn with sham gravity, "I know I can be a very lovable man, and I would be sorely missed."_

_      "Don't be an idiot," Legolas chuckled half-heartedly, "I thought you were dead, and you returned suddenly.  I was merely disappointed."_

_      "Next time I'll make sure," Aragorn said gravely._

_      "Don't say that," Legolas admonished, trying to check his serious tone.  It was one thing to kid about what is past, but the future was one that he vastly feared.  He concluded his work with a flourish.  He rose to his feet and told the ranger to stay where he was._

_      Legolas stole a pair of pillows and a blanket from a day bed in the corner.  The _adan_'s__ skin felt cold; he was better off staying near to the fire.  He handed them to Aragorn, who was looking at him quizzically._

_      "A nap would do you a world of good," Legolas pointed out._

_      Aragorn laughed at him nervously.  "There's no time," he argued, at the same time knowing how futile it was, given that steely unbreakable, unchangeable look in the elf prince's eyes._

_      "There's some time," Legolas said determinedly, "Don't worry about the rest of the preparations, Estel.  King Theoden knows what he is doing.  And so do I.  Trust your friends.  Regain your strength, you cannot help us later if you do not.  I promise, I'll wake you."_

_      "Make it quick?" Aragorn bargained._

_      "Keep quiet lest I wake you when the battle is over," Legolas told him primly, "I won't take long, I promise.  But it will be at my prerogative."_

_      Aragorn shook his head at the elf in dismay, "Not too long, Legolas.  Else none at all.  Swear on your name, you pompous elf."_

_      "I'll swear on anything you want," Legolas said evenly, striding towards the door.  He gave the man a reassuring smile, "Rest well, Estel."_

* * *

      _Exactly an hour later, Legolas stopped by the door.  Aragorn did not even stir.  The elf walked toward the _adan_, and watched his sleeping face.  His heart was pounding, he didn't know why, until he found himself wondering how very different things would have been if he was instead looking at a dead man.  _How very different_, he reflected, _and it had been much too close.__

_      ~I thought I simply liked you, _mellon nin_,~__ he said quietly, comfortable that he would not be heard, ~but you do not know how much you mold my world.~   _

_      It was the truth; Aragorn was like a looking glass.  He changed how people viewed at things.  He is dead and things seem so bleak and impossible.  He is alive and there is just… _estel_, Legolas thought wryly.  _Just so.  Very aptly named.

_      He hovered over the man, tempted not to wake him.  _If I could just keep you here_, he thought, _until the battle is won.  Until the danger is over_…___

_      The pounding steps of Gimli the dwarf and his jovial voice broke the silence of the room, effectively blighting the elf prince's devious plans, those dreams he wished he had the dishonor to actually entertain._

_      "Here you both are!' the dwarf exclaimed, entering the room.  Legolas looked down on Aragorn, who was by then very wide-awake._

* * *

      _The three hunters went down to the armory of the fortress, to oversee the progression of the preparations for the battle._

_      Legolas did not know why he felt particularly disappointed when it was a situation that should not have been much of a surprise._

_      "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," Aragorn observed with a frown, "These are no soldiers."_

_      "Most have seen too many winters," Gimli pointed out._

_      "Or too few," Legolas added, trying to reign in his mounting frustrations._

      Come now_, he admonished himself, _did you really expect any better?

      _But there was a bitterness to his heart that he could not comprehend, or control any longer.  The room was stifling him, choked and polluted by the fear of all those that it held.  A brave stand would be fought in Helm's Deep but it was as good as lost.  The armory, with all of its old bloody history and its walking would-be corpses, filled with old ghosts and awaiting new ones.  The experience was surreal, and so profoundly disheartening._

I'm going crazy_, he deduced, just before deciding it was more than fair.  Fate was once again favoring him with her dirty little tricks.  Hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment.  To have his friends returned but only to be with them a few hours more… _what a tasteless joke_._

_      "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes," said the elf, not caring so much that the room seemed to quiet and still all around him with his words._

_      ~And they should be,~ he added, switching tongues, ~Three hundred, against ten thousand?~_

_      ~They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras,~ Aragorn pointed out, wishing the elf would just quiet his doubts.  These were thoughts already well known, to word them lent them an irrevocable reality that stung, and pierced the heart._

_      ~They cannot win this fight,~ Legolas said fervently, ~They are all going to die!~  And so this battle came down between him and an old nemesis once again.  _Death_… how he despised it._It was a coward and would not even show its face, that it may be fought against…__

      _Maybe on some other day, Aragorn would have had the patience to understand.  These were old fears of his elven friend, resurrected in a most fierce manner, with all these brutal fatalities surrounding him in unparalleled numbers.  Legolas was standing at the very precipice of what he knew would be a massacre.  Dying was already a difficult concept for one who is immortal, much more in these numbers.  But this was no day to entertain these fears and worse yet, contribute to the fears of others._

_      "Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn retorted, turning away, inexplicably angry.  He had always counted upon the elf… the argument almost felt like treason, like betrayal.  The lack of faith was biting at his spirit, eating away at it.  Perhaps he expected too much.  The situation was admittedly tenuous.  But in any situation, there should always be a fool's hope.  _

_      Aragorn heard Legolas make a step to follow.  He knew the elf would do this, and he dreaded to continue the disappointing argument.  To his vast relief, Gimli advised the elf to simply leave things as they were, for now._

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP TO MY REVIEWERS: MSL, sirnonenath, platy, andruill043, wadeva, tychen, gollum's fish, gozilla, arithon, beebo, amthramiel, stoneage woman, elessar*lover, barbara kennedy, LOTRfaith, starlit hope, cotume, halanleg4ever, grumpy, knight kenobi of eryn lasgalen and deana.

To platy: did I placate him in time, haha :)

To andruill043: oh, I loooove movie gap fillers too :) I don't know why.  The movies are so overwhelmingly good but like a lot of ensemble movies, it leaves much to be imagined (because there's a lot of characters to focus on) :) 

To wadeva: haha, don't worry, I understand.  We'll return to the present timeline in the next chapter; the past kind of just weaves around it :)

To tychen: your review was just so eloquent.  You word your emotions well :) that was really beautiful :)

To gollum's fish: I actually try to update this fic on a daily basis :) no promises of course, but I've constantly done so throughout all the chapters so far.  I hope I can do this for the rest :)

To amthramiel: haha, i suppose you would be pleased to hear then that I was just working on that… part 19 :)

To stoneage woman: wow, maybe I'm confusing my tenses because I keep switching timelines, haha :)

To barbara kennedy: he will realize something to this effect in chapter 20 :) 

To cotume: oh I love helm's deep too.  It's what makes 'two towers' my favorite.  It's just so tense and desperate.  I'm like a guy, I love all these fantastically mind-blowing big battle scenes :)

THE NEXT POST takes us back to Rohan in 3019, continuing Legolas and Eomer's conversation :) 'til then!!!


	14. Fallen Hero

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

14: Fallen Hero

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

      "Are you angry with me?" Legolas asked him; it would not be the first time he courted the displeasure of a King.

      "I'm not sure," Eomer admitted gruffly.  "What a tenuous position you've placed me in, Legolas.  I wish to be mad, but have not the heart to be angry at a friend who is passing.  You wish me to be silent, yet I could not."

      "Please do not tell Aragorn," Legolas beseeched him, "I cannot face him.  I cannot give him this.  I do not wish for this to be the last thing that I give."

      "You need someone here," Eomer argued, "Someone here who _isn't_ me.  I have no patience.  I can offer no comfort, or understanding.  I cannot… I cannot fathom this.  I cannot accept it.  How could one not live with grief? I've had my fair share and I still remain standing."

      There was an edge to his voice; a kind of bitterness, a palpable anger that he was obviously trying to restrain.

      "Many deserve this life more than you," the King of Rohan finished helplessly, "many would do more with it than you are doing.  I am disappointed."

      Legolas stared at the fire.  "I would change things if I could," he said quietly, "I do not _want _this.  How could anyone _want_ this?" his voice was escalating, "I cannot… I cannot believe you would think that I would—" he cut himself off, took a deep breath.

      "What does one do with a life that does not end?" he asked the human, "Especially when everything that surrounds it fades? It's as if I was born to be an orphan.  I own nothing, I belong to no one.  I will never own anything, I will never belong to anyone.  Is it really so selfish, so unnatural, to want to be surrounded by things that are beautiful and everlasting? And since I cannot get these, is it really so unnatural for such pointlessness to end?"

      Eomer was staring at him.  "I do not know what to do with you."

      _A sentiment we share_, Legolas thought wryly.

      "Let me leave," Legolas said, turning burning, quietly begging eyes his way, "You do not want me here.  _I_ do not want me here."

      "I cannot do that," Eomer said with finality, not bothering to deny that he did not want the dying elf here; what could he say, really? He did not know what to do about the entire situation.

      "Then please just do not tell Aragorn," Legolas said, "Please.  How hard is it _not_ to do anything?"

      "Harder than you think," Eomer retorted.

      Legolas clenched fist descended soundlessly against the mattress.  "I do not wish to pass here before your spiteful eyes, or Aragorn's sorrowful ones.  I do not wish for my last hours to be spent in a prison of walls.  I want to be outside.  I want to be alone.  I want to burden no one.  All you have to do is let me do as I please.  Turn a blind eye, lend me a horse, let me walk.  I don't care.  Just let me leave."  
      "It will not be done," Eomer said, turning away from the elf and those fierce eyes that asked for all at once so little and all at once so much.  "I must work," he said quietly, walking towards the door.  He could not bear that burning, determined gaze.  He needed to think.  Or he needed to _not-think_.  He needed to get away from the room and all of it weight, and all of its loneliness.

      "I will think about your request regarding Elessar," he said quietly, just before he stepped out of the door.

* * *

      Avia was standing at the hall just outside the elf's room.  She was looking at the King with profound misery.  Lenne was standing beside her, red-eyed and gulping.

      "I told him," she confessed to the King, "I'm sorry, sire.  He's very nosy.  He was bound to know."

      "I didn't know him very well," the boy said shakily, "but… but it's just so sad."

      "Oh for god's sake," the King muttered, his brows furrowing, "compose yourself, boy.  He lives yet."

      "I just think about what he was," Lenne said, "Pounding away at Rohan's enemies…"

      "Elves do not pound," Avia murmured at him mildly.

      "And now in bed," Lenne imagined, "weak, and dying.  It's just so sad.  Rohan would lose a hero.  You wouldn't have seen, sire.  You weren't there—"

      "I know," Eomer snapped.

      "But oh, my," Lenne continued, oblivious to the King's irritation, "He always rode at the head of the column.  Right next to King Theoden.  He'd apply those elven senses, sire.  You know elves have this haven, he could have left at any time.  It could have been someone else's war, sire, but the way he fought for us, you wouldn't have known it.  What a loss for one who gave so much."  He ended his statement with a sob.

      Eomer blanched, but hesitantly placed a hand to the boy's shoulder, muttering, "The way this is turning out, boy, your mother should be paying _me_."

* * *

      _What a loss for one who gave so much_…

      The boy could be an idiot, but it's always been said that children often held the greatest wisdom in their simple words.  _And the blasted boy had a child's thinking_, Eomer thought with a measure of irritation, before conceding that it was probably more fair to say Lenne had more of a _child's heart_.

      The naiveté was almost enviable.  Almost… _endearing_, he ruefully admitted.  

      Eomer stood by the window of his office, looking over the lands that had fallen across his lap.  He was the heir to a much-ravaged country, a much-challenged people who somehow emerged intact.  He's had more than his fair share of losses.  He could not comprehend how anyone could not find the heart to move forward.

      And yet… _Legolas__ was still Legolas_, he reflected.  Stubborn.  A fighter.  _A warrior_.  It might just be unfair to conclude that the elf fought this affliction any less than how fiercely he fought for Middle-Earth.  It was simply incidental that _this_ war in particular was one that he was losing.

      He glanced at his desk.  Oh how his hands ached to write to Elessar, his mind running with the words he desperately wanted to say.

      _Elessar_, he would begin the letter, _Legolas__ is in Rohan.  He is dying.  Come at once.  He needs you_.

      **_I _**_need you_, he would think as he wrote, although he would not say so.  

_      Please do not tell Aragorn.  I cannot face him.  I cannot give him this.  I do not wish for this to be the last thing that I give_, Legolas had said.

      The selflessness was almost foolishly irritating.  _What about me_? Eomer thought, frustrated. 

       _I do not wish to pass here before your spiteful eyes, or Aragorn's sorrowful ones.  I do not wish for my last hours to be spent in a prison of walls.  I want to be outside.  I want to be alone.  I want to burden no one.  All you have to do is let me do as I please.  Turn a blind eye, lend me a horse, let me walk.  I don't care.  Just let me leave…_

_      My eyes are not spiteful_, Eomer reflected_, I'm merely… confused_.

      He rubbed at his eyes.  Running a country was easier.  

      _No word or allegiance binds me to you_, he said to the elf, though he owed more to Legolas than he cared to admit.  

      He did not write the letter.  Rohan was much indebted to the elf-prince.  While _Eomer_ wished so fervently to call for the formidable _reinforcement_ of Elessar, the King of Rohan could pay what it was his people owed.  His silence would be their gift to their fallen hero.

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: LOTRfaith, tychen, MSL, platy, amy, stoneage woman, elessar*lover, kit cloudkicker, amthramiel, rath, dragonfly32, deana, xiad rusco, barbara kennedy, specialfeel and grumpy.

THANKS EVERYONE AND 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!! Which takes us back to Helm's Deep :) I'm three chapters shy of finishing this story, I think.  Haha, I've finished writing chapter 18, began with 19, though I haven't finished 17.  I'm a scatter-brain!!! Oh well :) I now have a definite ending in mind, haha.  Oh well :) 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	15. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory conti...

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

*please read the important notes at the end of this chapter :)

* * *

15: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory III

(_The Worst of My Days, the Hardiest of My Spirit, continued)_

* * *

_Helm's Deep, 3018_

* * *

      "Remember I said to you years ago, that you seemed to be wherever I needed you to be?" _Aragorn asked him at the beginning of the quest.  _

_      Legolas stood by the door of the armory, watching the _adan_ as he outfitted himself with his warrior's garb.  Aragorn did not know he was there, just watching.  His thoughts must have been running very deeply._

      "You're in good company,"_ he had promised Estel at the face of all his doubts._

_      Guiltily, he thought about how his heart betrayed his friend at this instant where defeat felt as if it was breathing down his neck.  His observations were admittedly realistic; he was not so much of a fool to want to change his own mind about their impending fatalities.  But Estel would not have been blind to that either.  He did not needed it voiced and declared, least of all from a friend, from one who vowed to stand next to him._

_      Legolas stepped forward quietly, and picked up Aragorn's sword and contritely handed it to him._

Your sword_, he thought, _That which you always keep reassuringly by your side, that which you draw and depend upon at the first sign of danger.  Let me be as your sword is to you…

      _"We have trusted you this far," the elf said, "You have not lead us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."_

_      Aragorn favored him with a warming smile.  ~There is nothing to forgive, Legolas.~___

* * *

      _The night was long and the attack was fierce, giving more than enough occasions for more unbearable despair, and more fervent desire for forgiveness…_

_      ~Legolas, bring him down!~_

_      The elf had heard the constrained panic of Aragorn, and his keen eyes did not have to strain to find the heavily-armed uruk-hai bearing an ominous torch running towards the wall of the fortress..._

_      The first arrow flew from his hand and met its mark, sharp and clean.  It broke the stride of the orc for a breath, but it regained its heavy footing and continued onwards, to Legolas's great dismay.  Aragorn had seen this as well._

_      ~Kill him!~ hollered the man, his voice mirroring the elf's unspoken but greatly mounting frustration, ~Kill him!~_

_      The second arrow flew.  True to its wielder, it met its mark once again, but the orc staggered and still moved forward._

_      Brows furrowed and eyes widened in disbelief and sudden anger and fear, Legolas leveled his bow for a third effort._

_      But the arrow didn't fly a third time.  It fell to the grounds below limply, a moment after the elf heard the resounding thwok! of an enemy's arrow finding the flesh between his heart and shoulder.  Why hadn't he thought about such a thing? Of course the enemy would protect its own interests..._

_      He took a breath and took another arrow from his quiver, blinked to clear his vision, and aimed at the orc with the torch a fourth time.  He will deal with the others later..._

_      He couldn't stifle the quiet cry that escaped his mouth when another arrow found him, its force tearing through armor and skin.  It threw him back by a step, and his knees buckled beneath him._

_      He shook his head and tried to regain his feet.  There was time still, to stop the orc who had threatened the fortress so, and who had stood up to his twin arrows.  _There was always time for the quick hands of an elf…

_      He braced himself against the floor, pushed himself up to his shaking feet, and painfully raised his bow to his target, whom he had found just in time to see the mad orc jump to its death towards a bomb that took down a sizeable part of the outer wall._

_      The world seemed to burst and shatter with the force of the assault and the severity of his failure.  Walls, and rocks, _and **people**_ flew over his head._

_      The outermost wall of the massive fortress crumbled and fell all around him.  Their chances were poor to begin with, and this breach virtually guaranteed their failure._

_      The deafening roar of the blast drowned the clamor of battle as the ground shook with its great force.  Legolas slid to the floor, shielding his head from the rain of rocks and boulders, his back to the low wall as he waited for the blast and succeeding tremors to still.  He used the moment to catch his breath, and take stock of himself._

I failed...

I'm so sorry_, he thought miserably, dust and despair stinging his eyes, _I'm so sorry_…_

_      He shook his head.  There was time for such thoughts, later.  _There was always time for the long life of the elf...

_      Provided he survived this forsaken battle._

_      He leveled his eyes on the two arrows sticking out of his body, near his left shoulder.  The keep, after his failure, is now more open to the vicious attackers.  If he desired to be more useful, he must make quick work of it._

_      Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the tail of one of the arrows and pulled it out swiftly.  His vision swam, and he hissed as he caught his breath.  Bracing himself for the next pull, he surveyed his miserable surroundings._

_      The battle continued around him, orcs and elves and men stumbling and working through a ground that was littered with the dead, their eyes wide and unseeing.  The blast created a temporary respite; the enemy was regrouping to invade the fortress by the breach it created, and the humans and elves (_and dwarf!_) struggled to reclaim their wits about this new and profoundly lethal problem._

_      Here amongst the bodies of the dead, his eyes glazed by pain and an arrow sticking out of his body, no one seemed to heed him at all.  But Legolas of Mirkwood was not one of the dead, not yet._

_      His hand shaking, he put the first arrow he had taken from his body into his quiver-- he might need it, later.  The next he gripped tightly and pulled out, gingerly this time for the manner by which he had removed the first did not agree with him.  _

_      He caught his breath slowly, and steadily gained his feet.  This battle is not over for Legolas Greenleaf.  He would not allow it to be so.  The outer wall had fallen.  The nightmare will only get worse.  He was needed more, now.  _

_      Grabbing a fallen orc-shield, he laid it on the floor and rode it down the steep flight of stairs.  Bow in hand, eyes sharp, will strong... he dove into the fray._

* * *

      _As surely as the sun shone brighter surrounded by the darkness, these many occasions for despair gave rise to greater occasions for redemption.  _

_      Aragorn's legendary luck held for the night and straight into the morning toward a definitive victory.  As Rohan settled its wits about them, Legolas of Mirkwood was one of the first to stand before the breached Deeping Wall, contemplating his perceived failure._

_      Aragorn came up beside him and stood quietly for awhile, waiting for the elf's thoughts to calm and for him to say the first words._

_      "I'm not having a very good day," Legolas commented, struggling with a light tone._

_      "It's not your fault," Aragorn told him evenly, "Do not be foolish.  How are your wounds?"_

_      "They heal," Legolas replied, morosely thinking that the pain he still felt was almost comforting, as if it was punishment deserving of his failure._

_      "Your luck held," he told the _adan_ with a slight smile._

_      "Are you still surprised?" Aragorn asked him, winking._

_      Legolas shook his head in sham dismay, and made a move towards helping a group of Rohan soldiers who were making quick work of temporary repairs._

_      Aragorn put a hand upon his shoulder.  "It's not your fault.  You do not have to punish yourself, or struggle desperately to make up for what you think you failed to do."_

_      "It's not that," Legolas lied, "The breach must be blocked in case of another attack."_

_      Aragorn rolled his eyes, easily seeing through the pretensions.  "Come.  Let's greet Gandalf."_

_      "You're just trying to distract me," Legolas said, wrinkling his nose and seeing through _this_ pretension._

_      "Does this mean we're both terrible liars?" Aragorn asked him, ushering him away._

_      "I wasn't lying," Legolas said evenly, "Although you apparently just admitted."_

_      Aragorn thought about what to say to that.  He didn't bother, after a moment.  He had the elf precisely where he wanted him; away from the exertion that he desperately wanted to immerse himself in.  Aragorn didn't bother with a retort to the admittedly clever barb; he could always live with a silent victory.  He led Legolas away from the ruins and towards the Keep._

_      "I hate failing you," Legolas said suddenly as they walked._

_      "You hate failing, period," Aragorn teased, chuckling._

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS:  earthdanser, silvertongue, miss attitude, kirsten, gissela, gollum's fish, sodalite, tychen, gozilla, amy, amthramiel, grumpy, stoneage woman, knight Kenobi of eryn lasgalen, elessar*lover, barbara kennedy, LOTRfaith, starlit hope, platy and dragonfly.

To silvertongue: don't worry about it, haha.  I'm just so grateful that people actually read my stuff to begin with!!! :)

To miss attitude: oh well :) i can assure you that after this flashback, there's just one more :)

To kirsten: don't regret not discovering me sooner, haha, because hopefully I'd have more to offer :)

To tychen: oh wow, am I emotionally disturbed for writing something like this? haha.  I know what you mean though.  I'm still smarting from the dallas mavericks loss yesterday and I keep thinking if I just didn't watch the end maybe I can pretend they won, haha :)

To stoneage woman: oh they're actually very intense and nice eyes which I like, haha :) I just had the elf call them spiteful because he did not feel wanted or welcome :)

To platy: you always make me smile :) I want to thank you for the creativity you infuse in your reviews.  I suppose it's effortless for you to be humorous but I keep thinking if it were me I'd have to think _really very_ hard about it :) thank you :)

**SOME IMPORTANT NOTES**:

The bulk of this chapter is from a fic of mine called "Battles."  It was the first LOTR fic I ever wrote.  As I said before, I'm just a big sucker for movie gap-fillers.  I was writing an all original one for this chapter, but I remembered "Battles" and then I just didn't feel at all satisfied with what I was doing.  So I cut up that entire part and put in a clip from battles instead, which I thought would fit _this_ tale.  The clip is, however, not the _entirety_ of "Battles" and if you are intrigued, go ahead and look it up although you must be warned that it was my first LOTR post and not as polished as those that followed it. I posted two chapters at the same time (this and the one that immediately follows it), so I hope you read both :) I did this precisely because of note#1; I know that people wait for fic updates, and check often.  I don't want anyone who ever waited for my updates to feel cheated because they've read most of the new post before (for those who've read "Battles").  So I hope you guys enjoy Chapters 15 and 16 :) I'm almost done with this fic!!! I'm midway through writing chapter 20, the very last part :) so I guess I'll see you guys at the next few posts!!! :) 


	16. Letters

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

16: Letters

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Rohan, 3019

* * *

      Eomer sat upon a desk in Legolas' room.  It was evening, and they had taken their leave of each other some hours ago.  Eomer left the elf to his own devices and it was a relief to find he had taken the time to get some much needed rest.

      The King's day was coming to a close, and he remembered his wise sister, in their younger days oft advised him not to let the sun set on his anger.  He did not quite accept the cards fate was handing him regarding Legolas, yet.  But he did not like the way that their last conversation ended, and he thought to say good night and see to a friend whom he knew was fading quickly.  

      He watched Legolas' calm, sleeping face.  He looked… he looked more _absent_ than present.  More… more _dead_ than alive.

_      What would it be like_, he wondered, _If__ I was instead looking upon your corpse?_

      The barest of ideas sent fire through his heart, where a weight rested that he could scarcely live with.

      _What a waste_, he reflected, although in afterthought, it hadn't been so fair an assessment of the elf's impending death.  He winced, recalling how he bitterly told the elf that he did not deserve his life.

      Perhaps it was his own pains stealing his voice.  Eomer himself lived with many losses, yes.  Often it felt like too much.  But his life was short and he was surely to eventually follow.  But to multiply it, to think of more friends and more faces lost, and an eternity that promised only more pain…

      _What I feel for you now_, he thought, _compounded by age after age, after age.  Plagued by memories, guaranteed by more losses to come…_

      And he finally understood.

      The King settled in for a long watch.

* * *

      The first discarded piece of paper had but one and a half words upon it:

      _Greetings Eles-_

      The King crumpled the sheet hurriedly, deciding that 'Greetings' hardly seemed appropriate for the upcoming morose contents of the letter he was writing.

      The second discarded piece of paper had just _half_ a word written on it:

      _Eles__-_

      The King decided it was entirely too formal.  Almost frigid, almost heartless.  Though it was the more objective tone he desired to take, it hardly felt _right_, for Aragorn was a friend who deserved much better from him.

      Thus, the third crumpled sheet of paper got slightly further than the previous two:

      _Aragorn,_

_            Legolas is dead_.

      And with that single sentence, the third sheet joined its two predecessors, littering the floor.  _Too frank_, Eomer decided.  It would be like tossing Aragorn into ice water.  The words would take his breath away, freeze his heart, blur and dull his senses.  He would not be able to read and properly focus upon the rest of the letter.

_      Aragorn,_

_            I like to think of myself a simple man.  All things fall in their respective places, abiding by their respective definitions and roles.  Sometimes, life unfolds in such a way that I find myself at odds, wondering why life had to be so complicated, and when did I turn my eyes for things to just suddenly change, and spin away from my control and my willing.  These are sentiments not exclusive to me, I am certain, and this was harshly demonstrated to me by a visit from a common friend of ours._

_            I could call him an angel with clipped wings and the occasional, formidable attitude of a warg.  Yes, I speak of Legolas.  It is my most unfortunate duty to inform you that he has passed from this Earth._

      _He bled to his death in an agonizingly slow manner and it's partly your fault_, Eomer thought, although naturally he did not write it, and continued with something else:

_            He died comfortably, like the fat old horse he brought with him here into my lands.  His heart was broken, burdened by the immortality of its ultimately lonely master (or should I say servant?)._

_            Though for a long time I could not comprehend how this was possible, reasoning that at that point, things ought to be nothing more than a matter of willing, I now see-- knowing Legolas for all of his stubbornness-- that if this being could change his situation, he would._

_            He tried his hardest to stay for us.  But the one thing he could not give up for those he loved, was his loving itself.  And since this is a loving that is lethal, well, he obviously paid the royal price._

_            Here in these plains of Rohan, the last battle of a war that spanned a lifetime was fought.  It twisted, and it turned, and it ended at last.  Here was his final stand.  It was a field of losses and victories.  When he died, I wondered if he considered it the former or the latter.  Either way, it ended at the last, and that in itself seemed a strange and profound relief._

_            Come to Rohan, Elessar.  We shall bid him farewell._

_                                                            Eomer_

He finished with a flourish, looking up from his work to find Legolas awake at last, and watching him with a smile playing about his lips.

      "Is it just me," the elf asked, "Or does Rohan not seem to have so few constituents that her King is _constantly_ in my presence as if he had little else to do?"

      "Keep quiet," Eomer told him with sham gravity, lifting up his sheaf of papers, "I'm working."

      Legolas' eyes drifted down to the floor, noting the crumpled pieces of paper.  "You've been keeping yourself busy."

      "I was waiting for you to wake up," Eomer said, "Did you have a good rest?"

      "Yes, thank you," Legolas replied, sitting up and leaning against the headrest, "Letters."

      Eomer grimaced.  "Ah.  Yes."

      "To Aragorn," Legolas guessed, "from that look on your face."  
      "I did not give you my word that I wouldn't inform him," Eomer pointed out.

      "I was hoping your word would not be required," Legolas murmured.

      "Would you be horrified if I said these were letters saying you are already dead?" Eomer asked him quickly. 

      The elf actually smiled.  "I would be delighted, actually.  For it means that you will be informing him only _after_ the fact.  And I wouldn't have to deal with having him here.  Thank you."  A morbid, mischievous light graced his eyes, "May I read it?"

      "Of course not," Eomer snapped.

      "Why write it now though?" asked Legolas.

      "I'm not entirely sure," the King admitted, "To write it after…" _after you die_, he edited out, "I'm afraid I will lose my clarity and objectivity.  It might… it might not turn out to be a very good or very informative letter," he finished lamely.

      "Ah," Legolas said, "Just so."

      Eomer absently folded the letter he finished, and set it aside.  

"Does it hurt?" Eomer asked.

      "No," Legolas replied with a reassuring smile, "It's just like sleeping, after the longest day of your life, and you lie in bed at night thinking about the things you did, and the things you did not."

      "Good," Eomer said with a nod, "Good."

      They fell into an awkward silence.  The room was immersed with just the sound of the cackling fire place and the breezes outside.  

      "Are you hungry?" Eomer asked, "You missed supper."

      "No," Legolas replied, "Thank you."

      "Are you afraid?" Eomer asked suddenly, veering completely away from their previous point of conversation.

      Legolas' brows rose.  "Excuse me?"

      "Of dying," Eomer replied quickly, "Are you afraid of death." 

      "Not my own," Legolas replied evenly, "To fear it is like fearing the evening when the sun sets, or to fight a god and expect to win.  No, I do not fear it for myself, not at all."

      "But the same could be said, of others' deaths," Eomer pointed out, "You know they will die, as you will.  You understand the inevitability.  But why do you fear for others when you do not fear for yourself?"

      "Well yes," Legolas conceded, "but it is also a question of who goes first.  I prefer to be spared the grief, if we are all anyway headed that way."

      "So you are practical," Eomer said wryly.

      "I like to think so," Legolas chuckled.

      Eomer looked away from the elf and instead stared at the fire.  "Is there something I could do for you?"

      "I want to leave," Legolas answered easily.

      "I cannot permit it," Eomer told him frankly, "Unless you leave escorted."

      "Then you can give me nothing," Legolas said tersely.

      "Do you know how ill you are?" Eomer asked him, "At half your old strength I'm sure I'd never have seen you here again.  And I'd be missing a horse."

      "Now you're giving me ideas," the elf said wryly.  There was a resigned look that settled slowly about his amused eyes.

      "It can be so easy to amuse you," Eomer pointed out, "How can you be so unhappy?"

      Legolas chuckled at the frustrated observation in surprise.  "I'm not sure.  If I knew I'd have done something about it."  He paused in more serious thought.  "Do you know how it is, when you fight a war for so long that when it ends you seem suddenly misplaced?"

      "It never ends," Eomer argued.

      "Perhaps," Legolas conceded, "Well in that case, things are just as sad.  Possibly even worse.  The first situation means I am suddenly a fighter without a cause.  The second means I have a cause that I will never attain.  Either way… this life is made too long for any of these purposes.  It is futile.  I may as well depart from here."

      Eomer's brows furrowed in thought, his mind scrambling for words.  "I'm sorry for the things I said earlier.  I didn't understand.  I never will.  But now I think I have a measure of an idea.  I was being unfair."

      "I caught you with an unfair surprise as well," Legolas said with a wistful smile, "Let's call it square.  Or wait," his eyes lit with mischief, "I'm not sure.  You hurt me very deeply, now that I think about it.  Could I have a horse?  _That_ would be perfect."

      Eomer laughed in surprise.  "No."

      "Ah," Legolas grinned, "It was worth a try."

      "I won't tell Elessar," Eomer informed him, "Not until the end."  
      "Thank you," Legolas told him gravely.  Eomer thought that the elf had _these eyes_… the room was almost bursting with the gratitude conveyed by _those eyes_.  It was inexplicably touching.

      "Do you know how it is," said Eomer quietly, "that a people are bonded by the experiences that they've had together?  You're a part of Rohan.  You've even stayed through the most telling, darkest night of our people, and I myself was not there.  You've shared our hopes, our despair, our victory.  You're one of us, do you know that? You are indisputably a part of us. And this in a sense divorced you from your own kin.  I cannot pretend to understand precisely how much this cost you.  But we are grateful.  This is the least that We could do.  My eyes are not spiteful, Legolas.  We are honored to have you here, with your life and now with your death.  Because it must mean that we've become a part of you too."

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS EVERYBODY!!!

THE NEXT POST keeps us in Rohan of 3019, and is actually one of my most favorite chapters I think, because the _entire_ fic was inspired by this scene :) so 'til then!!! :)


	17. Fields of Gold

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

17: Fields of Gold

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

      Eomer stood by the window of his study, Lenne flanking him uncertainly.  He just concluded his last appointment for the day.     The King looked thoughtfully upon the view of the horse plains of Rohan, graced by the light of a sun that was near to setting.  The late afternoon breezes rippled over the tips of the grass, making them dance invitingly.  The skies were a clear blue where they were not streaked with wild shades of gold, and red-orange, and the dimming purple of a coming evening.

      "You seem troubled, sire," Lenne observed.  The King of Rohan did not immediately reply.  He seemed to think about the right words to match his thoughts, or if he should even say anything at all.

      "Everything is so beautiful," the King said quietly at last, "Do they not know a heart is breaking?"

      "Maybe they do," Lenne said simply, looking out upon the fields, "And maybe that's why."

      "Hm," Eomer smiled wistfully, "Clever of you to say so."

      "I thought your advisors may have relayed some form of trouble," Lenne said, "I guess you are just thinking of Prince Legolas.  Is he really dying, sir? I mean really?"

      "Yes," Eomer replied tersely, "Really."

      "Should we not send for Lord Aragorn?" Lenne asked, "Were they not good friends?"

      "He asked me not to," Eomer answered, "And I find it hard to deny a dying friend this request."

      The elf in question suddenly appeared by the door, garbed in his old clothes rather than the old robes he's been using the past few days.  He had an easy, cheerful expression upon his face.

      "Hello sire," he said to Eomer, giving him a slight bow, "Hello Lenne."

      "Should you be up, my lord?" Lenne asked, alarmed.  His eyes were wide as saucers and glistening.

      "Don't talk to him," Eomer advised Legolas, "He might start crying again."

      "Informed of my situation, are you?" Legolas asked the young man evenly.

      "Yes sir," Lenne replied, "We're all very sad about it."

      "I should hope so," Legolas chuckled, turning his eyes toward Eomer.  "I dodged your wily healer's drugged drinks.  I was hoping you would let me walk around.  I desire some fresh air."

      Eomer glanced back at his window.  The view was tempting.  "I think I shall join you."

      "You needn't worry about any attempts to escape," Legolas laughed, "You have my word.  I'll swear on anything you want.  I do not wish to be a bother.  I just simply wanted to go outside."

      "So do I," said Eomer, turning to Lenne, "Grab the Prince some coats, boy.  Evening descends rapidly upon us.  He must not be cold."

      Lenne nodded earnestly and quickly sped away.  Eomer walked apace with Legolas out the door, down the halls and toward the stables.

      "We'll have an easy ride," Eomer declared, "Are you up for it?"

      "Oh, yes," Legolas replied, his shining eyes hungry.

      "No speeding," the King warned, "Or I shall have you justly lassoed and thereafter detained."

      "All right," Legolas smiled, stepping into the stables and finding the wild horse from a few days ago tamed and saddled.  His brows rose, impressed as he was.  "Showing off?" he asked the King wryly.

      "Some," Eomer replied wryly, reaching for the reins and handing them to Legolas.  The elf took it happily.  Eomer settled upon his usual steed, as he and the elf prince awaited for the arrival of Lenne.

* * *

      The aide stepped into the elf's room, his eyes roving across the drawers for something thick and warm and suitable.  He grabbed three coats, and turned swiftly towards the door.

      In his hurry, the stray cloths from his armload of grazed over the nearby desk, sending a flurry of papers to the ground.  Muttering a curse, he laid the coats upon the bed and scrambled to pick up the sheets.  One of them caught his eye.  It was folded neatly and the outermost fold held the words _Elessar_ in the King's graceful and deliberate writing.

      Lenne caught his breath as he struggled with his curiosity.  Which incidentally always gets the better of him.  He read it.

      _Aragorn,_

_            I like to think of myself a simple man.  All things fall in their respective places, abiding by their respective definitions and roles.  Sometimes, life unfolds in such a way that I find myself at odds, wondering why life had to be so complicated, and when did I turn my eyes for things to just suddenly change, and spin away from my control and my willing.  These are sentiments not exclusive to me, I am certain, and this was harshly demonstrated to me by a visit from a common friend of ours…_

      His mother always told him, that what made a good servant was when they did not have to be expressly told what their masters wanted, they simply _knew_, and they _delivered_.  Granted, he didn't always listen to her, but her words often came up in the strangest of times and circumstances (_it was a magic shared by most mothers_).

      "_Everything is so beautiful," the King had said, "Do they not know a heart is breaking?"_

_      Were you referring to our guest sire_, he wondered now, _or to yourself_?

      Biting his lip in thought, he pocketed the letter, grabbed the coats and headed out the door.

* * *

      They let the horses graze freely, and they settled upon the ground.  The world seemed so large and so… _theirs_, out here in the horse plains just outside of Edoras.  They had a bit more than an hour before the sun completely set, and Eomer savored the late afternoon breezes with closed eyes and a tight smile.

      He could feel the elf's eyes settled on his face, and he opened his eyes to meet the wry gaze with an amused expression.

      "What are you looking at?' Eomer asked him.

      "Life," Legolas breathed, smiling graciously, "You are so delectably alive."

      "So are you…?" Eomer replied uncertainly, making the elf laugh.  

      "Eomer," said Legolas, looking toward the distant horizon of rolling hills and mountains, "Have you ever loved?"

      "I like to think so," the King replied, "Of course I have."

      "I mean a woman," Legolas clarified.

      "I know you meant a woman," said Eomer mildly, "Give me some credit, elf, I wasn't thinking of a horse."

      "What is it like?" the elf asked, stifling a laugh.

      "This one woman," Eomer replied, shifting uneasily, although the gold of the fields, the calming breezes and Legolas' open face were quickly disarming him, "I noticed she walked like a queen… like an unhurried, impervious ghost in an empty room.  She had an air of palpable and fantastical loneliness about her that mystified and enchanted me."

      "What happened?" Legolas asked.

      "Just that," Eomer answered, "Nothing else."  He chuckled at the distant memory.  "Or no, not really.  I think I said something about her lovely eyes.  How was I to know she was blind?  I guess that's why she moved as if she was unhurried.  It is no surprise that she didn't like me much, after."

      Legolas chuckled, "Was it love then?"

      "It must have been," Eomer replied, laughing with embarrassment, "The vision still makes my heart race." He shook his head in dismay and amazement at himself.  "Why in the world do you ask?"

      "I think about Aragorn and Arwen," the elf replied, "And realize one of my few regrets."

      "Not keen on women are you?" teased Eomer.

      "You're one to talk," Legolas chuckled, "If I remember correctly, you did rather badly with your 'fantastically-lonely enchantress.'" Eomer's laughing face was flushing, and Legolas decided to quickly spare him the misery, saying, "I suppose you can say I never found the time.  Can you believe that? Men can find one or two loves in a single lifetime, I've had ages to try and I still end up with nothing."

      "Is that what you need then?" Eomer asked him jauntily, "A woman?"

      Legolas laughed.  "I think I've figured out that I need a particular kind of rock.  One that doesn't die, but can be charming and amusing."

      "Is that where the dwarf comes in?" Eomer asked lightly, "They live longer, don't they?  Were you trying him on for size?"

      "That sounds frigid," Legolas chastised him with sham gravity, "First of all, my friendship with Elessar is its own brand of madness and therefore irreplaceable, and secondly, Gimli was carving his own ephemeral place in my miserable heart.  I hate mortals."

      "No," corrected Eomer, "You love mortals.  You hate mortality."

      "A fair assessment," Legolas breathed, letting himself fall sideways to the ground.  He pressed his ear to the soil, closing his eyes and relishing its nearness.  His glorious hair fanned about him, gold as the barley fields in the light of the defiantly setting sun.

      Eomer watched him, and found it was a bittersweet sight; one that was beautiful and all at once lonely, because he knew just how fleeting it was.  The elf looked weary, and it already looked as if he was more a part of the ground than of the living.

      "How nice it would be," Legolas murmured, "to enrich the soil that has given life and loving to me."

      "It pains me," Eomer said with a wince, "the very idea, that I shall hereafter lay you upon the ground.  And then our friends shall pass by and admire the flowers and the trees that your flesh helped grow, and it was you beneath their feet."

      "Maybe I'll grow weeds instead," Legolas said, opening his weary but persistently teasing eyes.

      "You look tired," Eomer said quietly, gathering his feet and offering a hand to the elf, "Let's go back."

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: starlit hope, noone, saz, kit cloudkicker, stoneage woman, MSL, Gozilla, Kelsey, amy, barabara kennedy, deana, halandleg4ever, platy, andruil1043, xiad rusco, miss attitude, LOTRfaith, tychen, narcissa1, AM and shelley leblanc.

To saz: oh wow, interesting question… I guess I never even conceived he would be _allowed_ to leave so I never thought about where he would go. Now I'd have to think about that, haha :) oh and by the way, about lenne… I guess this chapter (the 17th) shows more of this OC's pivotal role, eh? :) I didn't intend on it originally but well, characters take on a life of their own and suddenly they just shape things.  You know what they say… if there's a gun in the first chapter, there's a body in the third? I guess if the muses tell you to put a character somewhere, they affect the entire thing along the course of the story even if you don't know it yet :)

To stoneage woman: I don't write about it anymore.  But Weiß Kreuz is an anime.  It's not a particularly critically acclaimed series, but I got curious and it was more of the ffics of others that suddenly made it more real and alive to me.  I don't write about that anymore, but it's the realm where I got really bold and experimental so I owe a lot to that :)

To tychen: oh actually I haven't checked.  But I will when I get done with this :) I'm so near but I can't seem to get there, haha.  Chapter 20, the final one, is getting too long! Oh well :)

To Kelsey: actually after a bit of restructuring, Estel appears on the 19th chapter, no longer the 18th :) sorry.  It won't be too long of a wait, I promise since I'm already working on the last few paragraphs of this fic :) and about the elves dying thing, I'll read up on more than that… I do recall that if they do die they go to the halls of mandos until they are called upon once again by eru? I guess eomer was trying to say that why bother with all the dying bits when he could just leave.  It's not so much that he was told to perish elsewhere though I must admit that in afterthought, the sentence does seem to be structured in such a way as to imply that.  Sorry :) the 'you need to find yourself a girl mate' bit made me smile though, because I wrote something to that effect and when I saw it, it just mirrored what I put in chapter 17 :)

To shelley: I hope chapter 15 came through for you already! :)

THANKS EVERYONE!!!

THE NEXT POST TAKES US EARLIER IN 3019, AT THE BLACK GATE :) 'TIL THEN!!! :)


	18. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory conti...

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

18: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory III

_(Some Other Field)_

* * *

_Mordor__, Earlier in 3019_

* * *

      "I never thought I'd die, fighting side-by-side with an elf," Gimli had said.

      "What about side-by-side with a friend?" Legolas asked him with a wistful smile.    

      The dwarf was silent for a moment, but his dark eyes seemed moved.  "Aye," said Gimli with a slight nod, "I could do that."

___

      _Except they didn't die.__  Came very closely, yes.  But they managed to survive with few fatalities and with bodies relatively intact._

_      The victorious armies made a temporary camp not too far from just outside of that despicable Black Gate to tend to their wounded and to prepare for their respective journeys home._

_      Good that triumphs over evil, however, does not immediately cleanse a place that's long been burdened by its ages of unspeakable ills.  The air was still thick in Mordor and the lands that surrounded it; a heavy pall of misery still hovered._

Or maybe it's just me_, Legolas thought to himself wryly, finding his evening walk inadvertently took him from the camp and out to the open space where the __Battle__ of the Black Gate was earlier held.  While Mordor largely fell to its own evil, the plains just outside the gate were mostly intact, and he stood upon the ravaged land._

_      The bodies of the fallen _edain_ were quickly recovered, and the orcs properly disposed of.  The plains were empty save for him, and all of its ghosts and memories._

_      He was still in his battle clothes; it was not like him, really, to tolerate the spectacular dirt any longer than necessary.  But he was loathe to make time to change, or wash up just yet.  _

_      He clearly remembered the curious feel of the ground beneath his lightly-booted feet during the battle.  The ground was rock-hard with a sandy layer at the start.  But once swords crossed, once lives began to be taken… the blood and the ash made for a spectacular kind of mud that clung to everything and hardened there._

Ghosts and memories…__

      Victory had been exhilarating, yes_, Legolas reflected, closing his eyes, recalling how the world stilled for this one telling moment.  At first there was fear; the change in the air was palpable.  Things could have gone for better, or for worse.  And then the very air seemed to burst, and ripple with Sauron's defeat and his despair._

_      But the event that directly preceded it was a cursed nightmare.  It was Fate teasing him again.  Giving him a little reminder of his ultimate loneliness, lest he forget._  Make no mistake_,__ it seemed to say to him, _I've been watching you.__

___

      "… I never thought I'd die, fighting side-by-side with an elf," Gimli had said.

      "What about side-by-side with a friend?" Legolas asked him with a wistful smile.    

      The dwarf was silent for a moment, but his dark eyes seemed moved.  "Aye," said Gimli with a slight nod, "I could do that…"

_____

There was almost something comforting about it_, he reflected, _that moment, to stand there and think that perhaps the world would end.  _At first, he attributed it to the calm he's learned to employ at the start of a battle.  But there was something else too.  Something unspeakable, dark thoughts that pained him to realize._

Did I want to die?_ he wondered._

_      The face of death had a tendency to clarify things.  The world always seemed so large… There always seemed to be a host of things that demanded for one's attention.  But at the face of death, the world shrank into its barest moments.  Things became simpler.  _

_      He may not have wanted to die, no, he corrected himself.  He simply didn't _mind_ it, at least for himself.  It was a realization that wasn't as dark, but certainly paining too.  _

_      He put a hand to his lips, so deeply immersed in his thoughts.  His noticed that his hand was in parts caked with dried blood and in parts slick with it.  His wounds from this melee were smarting, and he could tell he was not healing as he was supposed to.  It was making him nervous._

I think I'm dying again_, he thought mildly, _Estel will be mad.__

_      He chuckled mirthlessly.  That was a _vast _understatement.  He ran his hands tiredly over his face.  _What a fix_._

_      The first time he had this affliction was after witnessing the death of his mother, a brother and some friends.  The wounds of his body mirrored those that refused to heal upon his marred soul.  He was saved by Estel in childhood.  Curious, for one so small to have such fire._

_____

_      "_Two broken hearts equal to one full one," Estel had said, "It's not so bad.  I know your heart is broken, but I can give you some of mine, and then some of Elladan's, and some of Elrohir's and some of Ada's.  Or we can steal them if they refuse.  We'll all make a big full one yet.  It's not so bad.  You'll see.  You'll see when you wake up."

___

      _But how long could a patched-up, rag doll of a heart survive the empty promises of the ages, he wondered now.  There's nothing more that needs doing.  There's no enemy to fell, short of a destiny that pulls one toward being alone._

_____

"Aragorn!" he had exclaimed, with widened eyes and a profound horror that was stealing his breath.  

      How did I wander so far? He wondered with a pounding heart as he fought across a sea of foes in an effort to thwart the enemy that threatened to steal yet another friend from him.

      "Aragorn!" he called again, even as his mind raised and wondered precisely what the point might be, to keep shouting thus, as if the man he was calling was not already painfully aware of the dangerous situation he was in.

      "No!" he cried out, watching as the man was thrown of his feet by the formidable troll.  Legolas pushed his way forward.  He was not going to make it in time.  He was not going to make it in time.

      The enemies that surrounded him would soon note his distraction and resulting weakness.  His eyes were held by the sight of Aragorn, his attention arrested.  He was watching a friend die, he knew.  Aragorn was dying before him.  And he could not change it.  He pressed his way forward.

      The sounds of the battle were dimming all around him.  He collided with foes and allies, dodged some strikes, received others.  But the world shrank.  There was nothing else to do but to _get there_.  To stop a dear friend's death.

      Dimly, he felt a cut to his forearm.  He pressed forward persistently.  He felt the sting of a blade upon his chest.  And he pressed forward persistently.  These were telling instances that had his heart bared open with his fears and his painful misery.  

___

      They will not heal_, he concluded, remembering that his present wounds came from that instance of realization, that moment his heart was bared wide open to bitter truths that long have called for his attention._

_      Fate once again decided to tease him.  He had the most concrete sense now of what it meant to watch someone he loved die, and to have one's hands tied.  There was nothing he could do then, just as surely as he can do nothing for all the ages that he would watch things around him perish._

_      He always said that Estel was like a looking glass… _He changed how people viewed things.  He is dead and things seem so bleak and impossible.  He is alive and there is just… _estel_…

      _Now, however… still very much like a looking glass, Legolas knew that while Estel's death would have been a grandly devastating loss, he was just a magnification of Legolas' entire situation._

I'm not destined to lose just you_, he knew.  _I will lose more.  I've been set to lose from the very beginning.__

_      The wounds stung now, as they did the first time they were inflicted.  And they bled just as heavily._

_____

      He remembers now that he stumbled to the ground, which was probably why he was so miserably stained.  Then suddenly, these strong pair of hands grabbed at the back of his clothes and pulled him up back to his feet.

      He must have lashed out; it was a battle, after all.  He crossed blades with a man wearing the colors of Rohan.  Blinking at the soldier, he realized that this was not just _a_ man from Rohan.  This was _the_ man from Rohan.  Eomer.  Her King.

      Eomer acknowledged him with a nod, before turning away to fight more of their foes.  He vanished in a sea of enemies and kicked-up ashes, just as the sounds of Sauron's defeat broke across the air.

___

      _It was one of those things that he forgot he remembered.  He would have to thank Eomer, when he runs across the King of Rohan again.  If he remembers to, that is, for he had more pressing problems, now._

_____

The battle ended.  The war ended.  He remembered thinking with a rather great measure of bewilderment that he managed to survive.  But what was even more stunning was that he also had a measure of disappointment.  _I didn't die here.  _

___

_      You know you have a problem when you begin to find tragedy in survival, rather than in death._

So did I want to die?

Maybe_, he managed to concede.  Or maybe it was not a question of wanting to die.  It was more a question of wanting to escape the loneliness that persistently chased him.  The helplessness and the lack of a definitive foe that marked the end of the war.  _

_      No, he did not want to die.  He just wanted to be spared the grief, wanted to be spared the tears and the bother of not merely losing friends and losing even more borrowed pieces of his shattered heart, he even had to _watch_ the losses unfold._

      The wounds will not heal_, he accepted,_

But it's all right.

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!

THANKS ESP. TO MY REVIEWERS: silvertongue, noone, andruil1043, nikki, starlit hope, LOTRfaith, tychen, amy, platy, gozilla, barbara kennedy, wadeva, karri, dragonfly, amthramiel, deana and stoneage woman.

To starlit hope: oh I've heard of them.  I'm not a fan, but I'll sure give it a listen now, thanks :)

To lotrfaith: actually its called 'last stand' because of a line in chapter 16 :) this will be further explained in my afterword at the end of the fic :)

To tychen: sorry for ruining your day!!! 8)

To stoneage woman: wow, thanks for taking the time even when you feel awful.  Get well soon!!! :) it is uneventful but I like quiet scenes that are kind of just gentle, you know.  I'll be talking about this in my afterword after the whole fic :) 

THE NEXT POST takes us back to Rohan and the arrival of a neighbor from Gondor… 'til then!!! :)


	19. Letters II

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

19: Letters II

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

      The late afternoons were theirs, or at least, they were for the next few days that followed that one time they shamelessly enjoyed each other's company in the plains of stunningly beautiful Rohan.

      Eomer would conclude all his businesses just before the sun set.  They never expressly agreed upon the afternoon rides, but Legolas would appear by his door, with that open expression on his face.  The temptation of the window views from his office were enticing, yes, but not nearly as enticing as the invitation that rested earnestly upon the elf-prince's face.

      They talked of things that were at times trivial, at times weighed so heavily upon the heart.  But the breezes were calming, and the sun-streaked skies seemed to promise a world that was beyond all the things that hurt them.

_      "We're so small," Legolas observed with a wistful smile on one such days, looking up at the heavens above him.  The clouds looked like spun cotton, swirling in shades of gold and purple over their heads.  It looked like the beginning of the world._

They would retire after the sun descended over the distant mountain ranges, have supper.  The elf would eat little, but he seemed well-enriched and satisfied by the continuation of their conversations.  And then the deeper evenings call them to their beds, with partings reluctant and promises of the coming day quiet and not worded.

      One afternoon, Eomer lingered by his office window.  His advisers have just left.  Legolas should come along at any moment.

      The King watched the fields sway in waves that followed the force of the late afternoon breezes.  The fields were shamelessly golden beneath the light of the setting sun.  It was his favorite time of the day.  The afternoon would thereafter climax to its sharpest, most rebellious, rich amber, before it dimmed to various shades of red, ushering in the evening.  While each day generally ended this way, each was its own picture of beauty.  It was never the same, the way the clouds made patterns in the sky, the way the winds shifted.  It was a stark reminder of how each moment counted in a life.

      _He's late_, Eomer thought with a frown, turning toward the doorframe where Legolas often stood with his wistful smile.  It remained rather stubbornly empty.

      The sun set.  Eomer watched it with regret, before deciding to see if the elf managed to get himself into trouble again, such that he was unable to meet what somehow became their afternoon ritual.

      He strolled through his halls, and found the door to Legolas' room ajar.  Eomer paused in thought before letting himself inside, where he found the elf attentively seated upon a chair that faced his window. 

      Legolas' graceful hands were folded over his lap, and his lonely eyes were staring out upon the glorious Rohan view, dimming with the evening.

      "I did not feel much for a ride today," Legolas lied, his voice quiet and his tone apologetic.  Eomer glanced at the bed, and found the elf's coats laid out there.  The perceptive King of Rohan easily put two and two together; the elf tried.  But his body will have its own way.

      "It's all right," Eomer said evenly, leaving him with his careful show.  He picked up the coats from the bed and folded them deftly, putting them atop the drawers.

      Legolas heard the rustling of the indulgent material, and knew what Eomer knew.  He turned away from the window and faced the King, who was looking at him with a regretful but stubbornly resolute gaze.

      The elf's face was strained.  As per always, no less beautiful.  But there was a tiredness to it that neither of them could deny any longer.

      Legolas smiled at the King.  "I think I owe you some thanks."  
      "What for?" Eomer asked, his forehead wrinkling in thought.

      "You saved my life near the Black Gate," Legolas replied, "It's just one of those things I forgot I remembered.  Do you know what I mean?"

      "Yes," Eomer answered uncertainly, sitting upon a corner of Legolas' bed, facing him, "You're welcome."

      "I'm really very sorry for all of this," the elf told him, "I really am.  It's such an imposition."

      Eomer shook his head to appease his guest.  "Do not worry about it.  These things happen.  And as you said… is it really such a tragedy? You are comfortable, you are not in pain, you are in a warm bed, taken care of… is really so sad?"

      But it was; he just said it because the lie was comforting to both of them.  

      Legolas smiled at him gratefully, "Actually, I thought it would also be a good thing to die in a battle."  
      "Is this why I've seen you so profoundly reckless?" Eomer asked him dryly.

      "I like to call it flair," Legolas replied, eyes shining as he matched the King's tone, "I wasn't trying to die, _mellon nin_.  I was just saying it wouldn't have been such a bad thing if I incidentally did."

      "What does that word mean?" Eomer asked, "_mellon nin_," he repeated uncertainly, not quite sure if he heard correctly.

      "It means 'my friend,'" Legolas replied with a wink, "I thought you could use a good foreign word.  You know too many curses in too many tongues."

* * *

      They had no more afternoons in the horse plains.  

      The elf prince's deterioration was slow, but it was surely coming.  The end was near.  Legolas was by now bedridden.  

      And yet as always, Eomer found his business done just before the sun set.  And as always, he found himself staring out his office window and awaiting the elf's arrival upon his door.  

      Legolas did not come, and Eomer wondered how long it would be until he realized that he never will again.  

      But then, somebody else came to occupy the much-overworked King of Rohan…

      Eomer squinted over the views of his golden fields.  There were darkly-clad riders awash in the amber colors of the setting sun, heading toward Edoras in a furious rush of thundering horse hooves.

      The King of Rohan's heart pounded as his gaze fell upon the familiar colors of Gondor.

      _Elessar_.

      _Elessar?!_

      Eomer turned from the window and whipped to stalk toward his door.  He wasn't sure if he was going to rush to welcome Aragorn or to turn him away to uphold his word.  He found Lenne standing upon the exit and blocking his way.

      "Riders from Gondor, sire," the young man said quietly.  There was a constrained expression upon his face.  It was as if he was falling from a great height and just waiting to hit the ground.

      "I can see that," Eomer told him gruffly, his fierce eyes raking over the boy's suspicious countenance.  "What in the world did you have to do with it?"

      "It was a mistake, sire," the boy stammered, "I dropped your correspondence, see.  Some days ago.  And I think I may have sent out something that was not um, meant to be sent out just yet."

      "A King does not appreciate being lied to," Eomer warned him.

      The boy bit his lip, and his panicked eyes met the King's fierce gaze.  "I knew what you wanted sir.  It's what makes a good servant.  It's what m'mother said.  I knew what you wanted.  I did it for you."

      Eomer looked at him thoughtfully.  He did not quite know what to say, so he pushed his way past the boy.  

      Lenne was more than a little bit agitated.  "Sire?" he called after Eomer nervously.

      The King decided to put him out of his misery, coolly saying as he walked away, "I might have to release you then.  You are getting to be very noble and intelligent… less amusing."

* * *

      The King of Rohan found Elessar standing at the landing of the stairs that led up to the sleeping quarters.  Eomer descended the stairs as enthusiastically as a man walking toward his death sentence.

      Eomer's majordomo was flanking the new arrival with flailing hands; he may have wanted to divest the King of Gondor of his dusted coats, or properly introduce him.  Aragorn, of course, was having none of it.

      Beneath his dusted cloaks were more indulgent velvet robes in the colors of his country's royal House.  It was as if he simply _ran_ from his courts and off toward Edoras.  It was plain to see why; in one of his hands he gripped a sheet of paper that Eomer recognized as the letter that was not supposed to be sent to him just _yet_.

      "Excuse us," Eomer told his majordomo, and Elessar subtly signaled to the entourage that followed him.  A shuffling of feet, the rustling of robes and a clicking of doors later, the two Kings found themselves alone.

      Aragorn was looking at Eomer searchingly.  His silver eyes looked less like precious metals this evening and more like the gray clouds that ushered the coming of a storm.  They shared the shade of the way the skies seemed to darken just before the rain fell.  

      _Just before the tears fell_.

      "Say it isn't so," Aragorn asked him quietly.

      "It isn't," Eomer told him, adding with a wince, "At least not just _yet_."  

* * *

      Eomer led the way to Legolas' room, closely trailed by Aragorn.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Lenne scurrying away, down the other end of the corridor.  If the boy had grown to be as perceptive as the King of Rohan guessed, perhaps he gave Legolas adequate warning…

      The past few days have been nothing short of a cruel dose of reality.  The mornings he spent working.  The afternoons he spent waiting for Legolas for their sunset rides—this always ended with disappointment.  The early evenings he spent gathering the courage to re-enter a dying friend's room.  They thereafter spent the nights talking about things that did not hurt them.  Always just at the verge of forgetting that their time was soon to come to a definitive close, the tiredness would come and the reminder of an impending death would throw them into a reluctant good night.

      He rapped at the door smartly, just before pushing it inward and stepping into the room.  For the first time in days he found Legolas out of bed; the elf prince was seated comfortably upon one of the room's chairs, and there was a rather randomly arranged board game that he was pretending to be busy with.  

      The King of Rohan checked his fervent desire to roll back his eyes.  Oh indeed, Lenne has been in here and putting the idiot-boy within the creative sphere of the notoriously inventive Legolas of Mirkwood almost guaranteed _some_ effort at a disastrously transparent charade.

      "Aragorn!" Legolas exclaimed delightedly, and there was a touching light in his eyes that wasn't faked surprise and faked delight made in a desperate effort to convey a sense of normalcy.  There was a happiness there over the sight of his old friend, one that he could not disguise or smother despite the grief that the new arrival also undoubtedly bore with him.

      Eomer watched Legolas' face carefully, wondering if the elf thought he broke his word and informed Elessar.  He opened his mouth to say _It wasn't me_, but Legolas threw him a helpless, wistful smile.

      _I know_, he seemed to say with his kind eyes shining.

      Eomer stood just inside the room uncertainly, letting Aragorn move past him.  The King of Gondor seemed to be gathering his nerve, carefully folding Eomer's letter in his hands and slipping it inside the folds of his cloak as he stepped toward the elf.

      "What are you doing here?" Legolas asked as he looked up at his old friend expectantly.

      "I…" Aragorn hesitated, struggled for the wry tone he desperately wanted to place upon his voice, "I had it on good authority that you managed to get into trouble again."

      "Well as you see," Legolas said to him, "All is well."

      Aragorn's skepticism clouded the room.  Eomer did not blame him; the elf's golden hair was in artless disarray, the usually religiously-kept braids were half undone, obviously having been laid upon, like his wrinkled robes.  His teasing eyes were weary, and his voice was strained.  But Aragorn kept these observations to himself; they were already painfully obvious.

      Instead, he looked over at the board game, and commented mildly that he's never seen it played quite like that ever before.

      "It's a local variation," Legolas lied quickly.  Aragorn managed a surprised smile.  The elf was a rather terrible liar.

      "Teach me," Aragorn dared him.

      "Oh I'm just learning myself," Legolas said, blinking at the _adan_, "Eomer was teaching me."  
  


      _Now would be a good time to leave_, Eomer decided.

      "I have work to do," the King of Rohan said, coolly heading for the door, "Amuse yourselves some other way.  Good night."

* * *

      Aragorn watched Eomer leave, and closed his eyes upon the quiet sound of the door clicking shut.  He took a deep breath, and sat across from Legolas over the miserably arranged board game.

      "You look like you've come to bury someone," Legolas told him with as much cheer as he could muster.  He did not succeed very well.

      "I thought we've gone over this," Aragorn said in a low voice, "This was not supposed to happen again."  
      Legolas' smile faded, and because Aragorn was carefully watching his face, his heart wrenched at the sight of it.

      "Aragorn, let me…

___

      _"Please, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly, "Let me…"    _

Let me take this lightly…

      _"You don't have to pretend with me," Legolas said, ~I hate death,~ he added quietly, reverting to his own language.  His hands began to work again.  Deftly, quickly, mechanically._

_      The elf struggled with a wince of a smile.  The _adan_ already had much to worry about without his trivial uncertainties._

_      "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "Ignore me please."_

_      "Well it's quite understandable," said Aragorn with sham gravity, "I know I can be a very lovable man, and I would be sorely missed."_

_      "Don't be an idiot," Legolas chuckled half-heartedly, "I thought you were dead, and you returned suddenly.  I was merely disappointed."_

_      "Next time I'll make sure," Aragorn said gravely._

_      "Don't say that," Legolas admonished, trying to check his serious tone.  _     

___

      _Curious_, Legolas reflected, to find their roles now reversed, recalling that Helm's Deep moment when he was trying to explain to an evasive Aragorn just what it meant to think he lost a friend.

      "Please let me take this lightly," Legolas finished.

      "You don't have to pretend with me," Aragorn said to him with a ghost of a smile, remembering too.

      "What are you doing here?" Legolas asked him wearily, after a quiet moment of thought.

      "I thought you were dead," Aragorn replied haltingly, "Eomer wrote.  I thought you were dead.  I'm here now.  We can weather this."

      "You cannot help me," Legolas told him quietly, fingering the board pieces nervously.

      "We need you," Aragorn said simply.

      "You do not need _anyone_, Elessar," Legolas said with a pensive smile. 

      "What is this, Legolas?" Aragorn asked him with a pained expression lining his face, "What is happening to you?"  
      "I've been feeling… misplaced," Legolas hesitated, "I've had it before.  My wounds will not heal."

      "How long now?" Aragorn asked.

      _Oh, he's going to kill me_, Legolas predicted.

      "The Black Gate," Legolas replied swiftly, "You've seen how it works.  When we met, do you remember?"  
      "You were dying, yes.  But you won over it," Aragorn pointed out, rising to his feet and heading for the door. "It can be done again."

      "Where are you going?" Legolas asked.

      "I'm going to have my packs recovered from my horses," Aragorn replied, "We shall see to those injuries of yours."

      "Please don't," Legolas told him, "Really, Estel.  There is nothing for you to do here."

      Aragorn heard him, but the request was typically ignored.  The _adan_ looked about the room and found some herbs, a wash basin and some bandages.  

      "Ah," he said with pleasure, gathering all that he needed and placing them upon the night table next to the bed.  He straightened up and looked at the elf expectantly.

      "What?" Legolas asked him, miserable, annoyed and also apparently resigned to the _adan_'s drive and stubbornness.

      "Will you rise willingly?" Aragorn asked him with coolly raised eyebrows, "Or will you deny me this and make a game of everything?"

      The ailing elf prince looked at the admittedly inviting bed.  He thought with profound dismay that it took most of his waning strength just to _rise_ from there some minutes ago…

      The night breezes were making him shiver.  Aragorn's sharp eyes could not have missed it.  The King of Gondor wordlessly pulled at the covers of the bed, and stood before Legolas uncertainly.

      "Here," Aragorn said, taking the elf by the arm and pulling him to his feet.  Legolas leaned on him heavily as he made the move from chair to bed.

      "You really could have picked a better charade," Aragorn advised him mildly, wanting to diffuse the prideful elf's inevitable embarrassment as he suffered being aided.

      "You did not give me much time," Legolas managed to joke, although Aragorn's heart constricted at how much smaller his voice sounded.  How much… _farther_.

      Legolas sat on the bed, and watched Aragorn's spindly healer's hands prepare all that he needed to see to the elf prince's hurts.  Aragorn always worked so intensely, his spirit was encased in everything that he devoted himself to.  Legolas found himself duty-bound to warn him of the futility of his actions, lest he give so much of himself and still end up with nothing.

      "It will not help," he told Aragorn mildly.

      "It's better than nothing," Aragorn pointed out.

      Wordlessly, the _adan_ divested him of his tunic, and though Aragorn was working upon his back and Legolas could not see his face, the elf knew from the ragged sigh his old friend exhaled that he was displeased with the sight that greeted him.

      "I think you dropped a lung there," Legolas said lightly, once again recalling that same similar scene from not too long ago, this similar conversation that they had except their roles were reversed.

      "Do you remember _everything_?" Aragorn asked him with unveiled, quiet amusement.

      "I do," Legolas said, and added more quietly, "It can be inconvenient."

      Aragorn could not say anything to that, so he just worked.  He twined the blood-slicked bandages about his fingers as he unwound them, revealing all of the persistently unclosing wounds beneath.

      "Oh Legolas," he breathed, "I thought you were dead."

      "Clever of you to have deduced," Legolas said quickly, once again replicating their older conversation.

      "I cannot have you restored to me," Aragorn said achingly, "Only to have you wrested by death hours later."

      "They refuse to heal," Legolas pointed out, "I've tried most things."  
      "It can be weathered," Aragorn argued as he worked.

      "This is different," Legolas said quietly, "Do you remember what you told me? You were seven, and you said things aren't so bad.  You said I can borrow pieces of others' hearts and make mine whole again.  And you were right for a time.  You were, and I lived by it.  But I no longer can, Estel.  The pieces drift from me.  And I can only watch them leave."

      _Watch you leave_…

      He raised his hands to his forehead, searching for his words.  His fingers were trembling and Aragorn listened to him with mounting fear, which he tried to detach from himself by focusing on his work, keeping his hands busy.

      "You were wise for an _adan_ of seven, _mellon_," Legolas told him.  Aragorn could not see his face, but it was a tone he recognized and easily saw with the elf prince's burning eyes, "But you can teach only as much as you know and of _this_ you know nothing."

      Aragorn was going to argue, but Legolas' resentment was getting the better of him, and his voice shook and rose.

      "You know about people dying all around you, yes," Legolas said, "Yet you remain strong, yes.  But give me _some_ credit, Estel.  I need you to think before you answer.  Do not tell me you can _preach_ to me that you understand all of this, and are certain it can be weathered based upon the sheer volume of your experiences with loss.  I _know_ you've lost, by the Valar, I know so well.  But do not think of these losses simply in terms of names and faces of loved ones. Give them voices, and moments, and color their eyes…  Put them in such a time that they are no longer warriors and it is no longer a time of war.  You do not lose them to an enemy.  You do not lose them to a sword.  You lose them to time.  You lose them to _yourself_, because you are made differently.  You lose them _as if _you ever had them.  But you never did.  _These arms have held many, these hands have buried more.  And there are others to _come.  Watch them age.  Fade their voices, and dim their faces until they've vanished before your eyes.  Tell me.  How does it feel? They fade slowly, they fade surely, and you can only watch.  How does it feel?"

      Legolas noticed that Aragorn's working hands have stilled.  He hated the way he sounded, the way his words _bled_ out of him so carelessly, flooding the room, engulfing the senses, _emptying_ him.  He turned to face Aragorn.

      The man was staring at him searchingly.  

      _Legolas_, he thought mournfully, _I already _**am**_ watching.  Your voice is fading.  Your face dims.  You vanish before my eyes.  And I can only watch…_

_      I did not know you were so profoundly alone,_ Aragorn thought, _or that the loss you feel is so acute.  The deprivation is anticipatory; it is yet to occur and yet one could hardly turn the heart on or off, or keep the mind from knowing it.  I cannot tell myself to be happy now, simply for this moment that I have and not think about later, for when I will surely lose my joy.  The mind and the heart do not easily forget their destiny.  I am sorry…_

      "How does it feel, Estel?" Legolas asked him again, his voice lowered and his gaze averting in embarrassment at the conspicuous silence that followed the furious rush of his harsh words.  _Speak to me_, Legolas silently begged.

      "It tears at my soul," Aragorn said finally, and Legolas raised his eyes to meet his profoundly sorrowful gaze.  

      The elf's heart wanted to burst.  He did not wish to be the one to tear the spirit away from those fiery eyes.  To chip at that legendary hope.  It was why he left; he knew long ago that he could do nothing to save himself, so he might as well spare his friends the grief.

      _And yet here we both are_, Legolas thought miserably.

      Aragorn finished with the work, and helped Legolas into his robes.  He stepped away and let the elf lie down on his own, but gathered the blankets around him and practically swathed him with them.  Legolas was watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

      Aragorn settled his friend into bed, and dragged the chair the elf vacated some minutes ago next to him.  

      "What are you doing here?" Legolas asked him plaintively, sighing heavily as his battered body and even more battered spirit fought to stay awake.

      "Did you not tell me before?" Aragorn asked him with a small smile, "We are where we need to be?"  

      Legolas' eyes slipped close.  The elf was sinking into a deep sleep that could very well be preceding his death.  Aragorn did not know if he's seen the last of those glacial blue eyes.  But he could not bear to say goodbye, so he settled for good night instead.

      "Legolas," he said softly, "Rest well, _mellon nin_."

      "Hm," Legolas murmured lazily, "You would be kinder if you just left."

      Aragorn watched him drift off to sleep and possibly… _possibly_, drift off to an even farther place.

TO BE CONRINUED…

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Hey guys :) more detailed thanks, notes and replies next time… I'm in a bit of a rush but wanted to put this up :) 'til the next post, which will be the last chapter :)


	20. Finding Estel continued

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

* * *

20: Finding Estel III: A Reprise

(_Finding… Legolas_)

* * *

Rohan, 3019

* * *

      Hours later, Aragorn realized he barely moved from that place beside his friend.  Time seemed to slow, yes, but he wanted it to stop altogether, if it meant they would be together longer.

_      How familiar a scene this was_, Aragorn reflected, thinking back to when he was seven, and that night he was losing a newfound friend.

___

_      Estel watched in alarm as reason and awareness vanished from his newfound friend's eyes.  The elf's chest rose laboriously with a shuddering breath, and his brows furrowed furiously with his pain.  His face was flushed with a low fever, and the blood from the side of his head soaked the pillows.  Estel had almost grown used to the sight of that unclosing wound, but now that it actually looked as if the Elven prince was dying and not merely asleep, it lent a new brand of menace._

_      ~I'll get _ada_,~__ Estel said to Legolas urgently._

_      Legolas' hand blindly reached out to him, and Estel caught it hesitantly.  The elf's fingers were so deathly cold…_

_      ~Please,~ Legolas whispered, ~He can offer me no relief.  This is better.  Quieter.  Less trouble.  It will end.  I could just go to sleep.~_

_      His words were not making proper sense, but Estel was distinctly aware of what it meant.  The elf before him was dying._

_      Legolas' grip slackened, embarrassed at the intimacy and perceived intrusion of the contact, but the boy reclaimed his hand and kept it._

_      ~They said your heart was broken,~ Estel told him nervously, ~Because you lost those whom you loved, and your heart seeks to follow them.  They say you're dying because your heart is broken… It's like a fairy tale.~_

_      The boy's words swirled around him like a haunting dream.  He was fading, he was drifting away, and the chatter was warming, so he listened._

_      ~But this is life,~ Estel said, his words quickening with his fears, ~It's supposed to be different.  Or I want some other fairy tale to come true instead.  Like the wooden boy who became a man.  You think there could be some man who turns into an elf? I want to be an elf.  I want to live forever.  Because I'm not an elf.  I suppose it's really very plain to see.  Or I do not know, maybe you hadn't noticed.  You do not seem… much aware…~_

_      He hesitated and bit his lip, his warm grip tightening about the elf's fingers, ~I wish you would live.  Because I have questions.~_

_      The elf's eyes drifted close.  Estel leaned in closer, near to his face.  Legolas' expression slackened and relaxed as he fell into a deep sleep, though he could still hear the words dancing across his distorted and fading reality._

___

      What Aragorn did not know was that he was as heard _now_ as he was before.

      "You asked me how it felt to watch," Aragorn said quietly, "I did not know just how you were so alone, my friend.  But let me share this pain with you, even for just one night."

* * *

_      It was Legolas' sense of touch that returned before anything else.  He was lying in bed, and he knew he was in his own room from the familiar contours of the mattress.  A thick blanket laid heavily over him, and for a moment he pondered shifting away from it— the layered comforter was a weighty burden over his chest, but the warmth it provided was needed and welcomed._

_      This feels too familiar_, he thought wryly.

      Then as now, there seemed to be someone else in the room, and he could hear him speaking in hushed tones.  Instinct kept the elf's eyes closed; the rule in capture was always to be aware of the enemy before they were aware of you.

      _Capture?__ Enemy?!_ He suddenly realized, _Who__ am I talking about_?

      "You asked me how it felt to watch," Aragorn said quietly, "I did not know just how you were so alone, my friend.  But let me share this pain with you, even for just one night."

      _Aragorn_, Legolas concluded, _Right.  How could I forget._

      The grown _adan_ gripped the elf's slack and cold hand just as he did when he was just seven, when they just met.  Their friendship began thus it did not seem strange for it to end similarly.

      "I did not know just how you were so alone," Aragorn said again, his voice trembling, just as the tears shook from his turbulent eyes and rebelliously fell down his cheeks and over _their_ hands.  "Such a harsh lesson to teach a friend, Legolas."

      The elf kept his silence and decided that he had indeed been captured, he was indeed imprisoned, and he was very much in the heart of 'enemy' territory…  

      _Your tears_, Legolas reflected, _they stretch from ground to sky, like the silver bars of a lifelong prison I cannot escape_.

      But Aragorn's grip about the sleeping elf's hands only tightened, even as his heart fought to let him go.

      "But I understand now," Aragorn said quietly, "Do as you will, _mellon__ nin_."

* * *

The sudden release was a shock to the system, and that tone… _so sad_, Legolas reflected, _so defeated_.

      _I've never heard you so defeated_…

      The elf kept his eyes closed and his expression slack; he did not desire to wake and to gaze upon those liquid eyes.  

      Aragorn by now had fallen into silence, but Legolas could still clearly hear the words dancing across his distorted and fading reality.

_      "It tears at my soul…"_

_      "Let me share this pain with you, even for just one night."_

_      "Such a harsh lesson to teach a friend, Legolas."_

_      "I understand now."_

_      "Do as you will."_

_      "It tears at my soul…"_

_      "It tears at my soul."_

* * *

      The cool dewy feeling of the morning assured him that the sun was soon to rise, though it was still as pitch dark as night.  The candles that peppered the room were by now practically swimming in the melted wax that spilled indulgently from their metal holders, still dimly lighting the suite and resisting the dark of the early morning.

      Aragorn found that a blanket had been draped over his shoulders, and he pushed himself up from his position of resting his head over his folded arms upon the bed, still gripping Legolas' hand.  

      The King of Gondor looked up to find that the 'culprit' must have been Eomer, who was sitting on the chair he himself sat on some hours ago, absently turning the board game pieces in his hands.

      "You've remarkably light feet," Aragorn commented quietly.

      Eomer looked up at him, and placed the game piece down.  He caught how Aragorn's hand squeezed Legolas' affectionately before relinquishing it, and he averted his eyes in embarrassment.  He felt distinctly intrusive.

      "The letter was not meant to be sent to you so soon," Eomer murmured.

      "I gathered as much," Aragorn replied, watching the other King carefully.

      "Should I apologize?" Eomer inquired, "for not telling you of all this sooner?"

      "No," Aragorn replied easily, "It is so like him to have successfully wrought a promise of secrecy from you, or from anybody."

      Eomer glanced at Legolas' sleeping face, as if he awaited a reply, or some form of quirky reaction.  None came, and he thought with irritation that he was perpetually plagued by unrewarded expectations.

      "He did not want you here," Eomer said quietly, "He said to me, he does not want this to be the last thing he gives to you."

      "That is like him too," Aragorn commented wistfully.

      They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.  

      "Your wife does not suffer a similar malady?" Eomer inquired.

      "She counts upon being a mother," Aragorn replied, "Hers is a life that not merely is just beginning, it is one that transcends her."

      "She will die when you die, do you think?" Eomer asked.

      "Yes," Aragorn answered, wincing, "I believe so."

      "Does this not make you the luckiest and most clever man there is," Eomer reflected, "That all the things you love shall always surround you, that you shall always have someone until you die."

      "I suppose," Aragorn conceded, looking at Legolas too.  "I did not realize just how alone he was."

      "What would knowing have done?" Eomer asked.

      "I'd have stayed away," Aragorn replied, chuckling mirthlessly, "I'd have spared him my miserable company.  He'd never have had anything to lose."

      "Life takes us to strange places," Eomer reflected, "Is it not better to have had something wonderful and lost it, than not having had it at all?"

      "I used to think so," Aragorn replied, "But now I wonder if I was wrong, or if it is a wisdom that is meant only for _edain_, who live with losses and grave regrets for far shorter a time."

      "I do not think losses are chronologically limited," Eomer commented, "If they hurt, they just do.  No matter if you live with it until you die or live with it until the end of time.  Yet I find I cannot trivialize his hurts and say that his and mine are equal.  Legolas is still… _who he is_.  This malady is given credence to me only by his character.  He would triumph over it if he could."

      Aragorn stared at Legolas' face.  He looked at peace.  He looked comfortable.  _Maybe things weren't so bad after all_…

      _But why do _I_ hurt so _damn _much?_

      "His eyes are closed," Aragorn said quietly, "Elves do not sleep thus."  He reached to feel for the thready pulse upon the elf prince's neck.  "But he lives yet."

      "For how much longer?" Eomer asked.

      "If he shall live long enough to open those eyes one more time," said Aragorn, "I would already count us among those who are much blessed."

      He did not sound very hopeful.

* * *

      Dreams.  Ghosts.  Memories.

      Legolas did say that _this_ form of dying was just like sleeping after the longest day of his life, and he lies in bed thinking about all the things he's done and all the things he didn't.  

___

      _~Remember I said to you years ago, that you seemed to be wherever I needed you to be?~ Estel asked him with a wistful expression on his face, ~That first time, I was seven and sick.  That second time, you halted what could have been a disastrous duel.  That third time you helped me bury my dead.  And that fourth time you helped save my people from a flood, and me from a uh…~ he smiled in embarrassment, ~a rather murderous tree branch.  And then I remember just last year, when I captured the creature Gollum in the Dead Marshes.  I passed through Mirkwood and your soldiers imprisoned me fearing I was some kind of a spy.  You were there too.  You're so seldom in your kingdom, I know, and you were there when I need you to be there.  And now here we both are.  _I'm_ seldom here at home too, but fate would have it that we are once again together and I am once again in need.  Are you by any chance getting sick of my face?~_

_      ~Don't worry,~ Legolas told him with a smile, though his forehead creased in worry, ~I will let you know when that happens.~_

_      ~_If_ it happens,~ Estel corrected him primly._

___

      _"Do you think this is crazy?' Aragorn suddenly blurted out._

_      "Yes," Legolas replied, not missing a beat, "We have four hobbits with us on our way to _Mordor_, Aragorn.  It's not a very intelligent question."  
      "They are more able than you think," Aragorn pointed out, "But I understand your meaning.  But you must know that this mission takes more heart than skill.  Of that they have stock in country-loads."_

_      "If you've already come with all the answers," Legolas told him wryly, "Why do you ask me questions?"_

_      "I want to make sure I'm not…" Aragorn shook his head in dismay, "I already know what I think and what I feel, you see.  And I cannot change my heart much as I may want to.  But what I do not know, is if my thinking and feeling is the thinking and feeling of a crazy person.  I will not bring the little ones into a mad situation that means certain death and certain failure."_

_      "I know," Legolas said evenly, "I know, _mellon_.  I know.  Do not doubt," a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "It's unbecoming of a man named Estel."_

_      "Well I've always wanted to be Lucky instead," Aragorn said, appreciating the lightheartedness._

_      "I know," Legolas smirked._

_      "Don't you know a lot," Aragorn said wryly._

_      "And besides," said Legolas, "It's a little too late to be entertaining these doubts now."_

_      "Too late in the game," Aragorn agreed._

_      "Well yes but," Legolas told him good-naturedly, "It's more because it's too late _in your life_.  You're a constantly hopeful fool."_

___

      _~I thought I simply liked you, _mellon nin_,~__ he said quietly, comfortable that he would not be heard, ~but you do not know how much you mold my world.~   _

_      It was the truth; Aragorn was like a looking glass.  He changed how people viewed at things.  He is dead and things seem so bleak and impossible.  He is alive and there is just… _estel_, Legolas thought wryly.  _Just so.  Very aptly named.

_____

_      "I know you've lost, by the Valar, I know so well.  But do not think of these losses simply in terms of names and faces of loved ones. Give them voices, color their eyes…  Put them in such a time that they are no longer warriors and it is no longer a time of war.  You do not lose them to an enemy.  You do not lose them to a sword.  You lose them to time.  You lose them to yourself, because you are made differently.  These arms have held many, these hands have buried more.  And there are others to come.  Watch them age.  Fade their voices, and dim their faces until they've vanished before your eyes.  Tell me.  How does it feel? They fade slowly, they fade surely, and you can only watch.  How does it feel?"_

_      Aragorn was staring at him searchingly.  _

_      "How does it feel, Estel?" Legolas asked him again, his voice lowered and his face averted in embarrassment at the conspicuous silence that followed the furious rush of his harsh words.  Speak to me, Legolas silently begged._

_      "It tears at my soul," Aragorn said finally, and Legolas met his profoundly sorrowful gaze.  _

_      The elf's heart wanted to burst.  He did not wish to be the one to tear the spirit away from those fiery eyes.  To chip at that legendary hope.  It was why he left; he knew long ago that he could do nothing to save himself, so he might as well spare his friends the grief._

___

_      "What are you doing here?" Legolas asked him plaintively, sighing heavily as his eyes fluttered toward sleep._

_      "Did you not tell me before?" Aragorn asked him with a small smile, "We are where we need to be?"  _

_      "You would be kinder if you just left," Legolas told him quietly, closing his eyes in profound weariness.  Aragorn waited a beat, watched him drift off to sleep. _

_      "You asked me how it felt to watch," Aragorn said quietly, "I did not know just how you were so alone, my friend.  But let me share this pain with you, even for just one night."_

_      The grown adan gripped the elf's slack and cold hand just as he did when he was just seven, when they just met.  Their friendship began thus it did not seem strange for it to end similarly._

_      "I did not know just how you were so alone," Aragorn said again, his voice trembling, just as the tears shook from his turbulent eyes and rebelliously fell down his cheeks and over their hands.  "Such a harsh lesson to teach a friend, Legolas."_

_      His grip about the sleeping elf's hands tightened, even as his heart fought to let him go._

_      "But I understand now," Aragorn said quietly, "Do as you will, mellon nin."_

* * *

      The birds were singing.

      It was a new day.  The irrepressible streaks of the morning sunlight warmed the room and lit it with a sparkling yellow-white.

      Legolas opened his eyes, and he felt alive.

      _Actually_, he decided, _I'm pretty sure I am._

      The thought was strangely funny.  

      He pushed himself up to his elbows, and found with no surprise that he was not alone in his room.  Two sleeping human Kings miserably made a rather pathetic effort of converting the stiff-backed desk seats into beds.  They were sitting in front of each other over that blasted board game.  He craned his neck to get a look at the pieces.  Aragorn was winning.

      A smile touched his face, and he brought his hands up to touch his lips, his brows furrowing in thought.  He felt… _detached_.  As if he was uncertain of _being here_.  

      _Or perhaps,_ he corrected himself, _I'm uncertain of _being_ at all._

      He sat up and leaned against the bed's ornate headrest.  His robes were wrinkled, and wisps of his hair were stubbornly framing his face.  

      _This will not do_, he thought with profound displeasure.

      He sighed.  The two Kings stirred for a moment, as if they would awaken by this slightest of sounds.  Legolas stayed perfectly still, waiting until they settled back into sleep.

      _Do as you will, _mellon nin, Estel had said.

_      Oh Estel_, Legolas thought, _Even _my_ will follows your will_.

      He was feeling remarkably well.  Weak, yes, but _remarkably _well for one who was supposedly dying.  As a matter of fact, he felt _so well _that he was even feeling extraordinarily _mischievous_.

      _What would they do,_ he wondered, _if they woke to suddenly find me gone from this bed…_

      But there was really no use stirring them until he was sure he was physically well enough to handle the inevitable revenge.  He was weary, but refreshed, and there really was just _one_ way to know…

      So he carefully removed the bandage upon his left forearm.

      The white wrapping came off with dried blood.  And upon his arm he found a nightmare of a scar, yes, but one that would surely soon fade.

      He looked at it thoughtfully, with a mixture of sadness and joy, a mixture of relief and annoyance.  

      _And so I get to stay_, he concluded.

      Was the night so long, that things have changed for him so dramatically?

_      "It tears at my soul," Aragorn said finally, and Legolas met his profoundly sorrowful gaze.  _

_      The elf's heart wanted to burst.  He did not wish to be the one to tear the spirit away from those fiery eyes.  To chip at that legendary hope…  _

      He placed the bandage upon the bed, and raised up his eyes to find that he was being very keenly watched by the King of Rohan.

      "Good morning," Legolas greeted him quietly, eyes shining at him warmly and with an endearing effort at courting conspiracy.

      Eomer glanced at the Elessar, before deciding to keep his own voice low.  "You're healing, yes?"

      "Yes," Legolas answered, looking at the man in wonder, "How long have I been asleep?"

      "A night," Eomer replied, "You know it could have been _much_ longer…"

      There was a thoughtful look on the elf's face.

      "Why?" Eomer inquired.

      "It felt so long," Legolas replied quietly, "Because things changed so quickly."

      "The discoveries of the soul are not bound by the limits of time," Eomer said, "Remember? Like a stroke of lightning? One telling moment in time, can easily be missed by the blink of an eye? And then you come to these ridiculously binding realizations."

      "As true for horses as elves, eh?" Legolas asked him dryly.  The King of Rohan was not slighted, though his discerning ears caught an almost antagonistic edge to the tone.

      "You have this look on your face," Eomer pointed out, "This… sound to your voice.  As if you're unsure if your living is a good thing."

      "No," Legolas assured him with a defeated sigh, "It's a good thing.  It just doesn't make it any less of a sad thing.  It just… _is_."

      "I'm confused," Eomer admitted after a beat.

      Legolas smiled and shook his head, indicating he himself was.  He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin over them thoughtfully.

      "You found your cure then," Eomer commented, "One visit from this crazy man and all is well.  His really are a set of hands that are healing."

      "Yes, but…" Legolas said softly, glancing at the sleeping _adan_, "I think it was his eyes, this time.  He seemed so sad."

      "Aye," Eomer agreed, "that he was.  Justifiably so.  He said if he only knew how grandly he hurt you, he'd have spared you his miserable company."

      Legolas frowned.  "He would say that.  Although… he never would have, before--"

      _Before _I_ cast all that he believed into doubt._

      _He would have said, _to live this way, haven't you already lost? 

      "He never would have before," Legolas finished.

      "So is it just him then?" Eomer asked, "You said to me days ago… you needed something of yourself to fight this. That which will give you strength even when you stand alone.  Because ultimately, that is what you are to be.  You said that if you cannot save yourself on your own then you might as well let this passing happen, because Elessar, or anybody else who can spare you your grief will not always be around.  You found something.  I want to know what it is."

      Legolas pondered the question.  He realized with some dismay that he did not know the answer readily.

_      "It tears at my soul," Aragorn said finally, and Legolas met his profoundly sorrowful gaze.  _

_      The elf's heart wanted to burst.  He did not wish to be the one to tear the spirit away from those fiery eyes.  To chip at that legendary hope…_

      _It tears at my soul…_

_      It tears at my soul…_

      "I did not want to take his hopes from him," Legolas replied quietly, "I despised that look in his eyes, the sound of his voice.  He was dispirited.  And I was the cursed thief.  Orcs could not take it.  Sauron could not.  _I_ took it."

      And so there it was.  And so he knew.  He managed to survive this lethal fix, because lonely as he was, there still was this one thing he could not bear to do.  To _tear _that_ soul apart_.

      Years ago, he was near death and Estel asked him to _stay_.  Legolas lived, and the _adan's_ child's heart expected no less.  This time, that voice had been so devoid of hope and trust... and Legolas was bent upon restoring it. 

      Years ago, it was Estel's caring for him that sustained him.  This time around, it would be _his_ caring for Estel that would keep him alive.  

      _"It loves without end," Legolas said of his heart some days ago, "Though unfortunately it loves things that do…"_

      His understanding had been hideously flawed.  A love that was true sustained itself only by its giving.  He did not need to take, _anymore_.  He only had to _give_, and that _had to be_ enough.  A love that was true was like a calling, a sacred duty.  It was one that death could not release one from, or erase.  

      _But still, _he reflected, _in a sense I did die.  _He died out of himself, out of the things that he desperately wanted to escape.

      "I will not be the one to break him," Legolas said with finality.

      As Estel always was, the _adan_ once again became Legolas' looking glass upon life.  Not its center, but its vantage point.  The man was truly amazing; he could teach things he himself did not know.  

      _I guess I get to stay_…

      "You do not look too happy," Eomer said thoughtfully.

      "I do not have to be," Legolas replied with a wistful smile.

      Eomer stared at him for a moment, deep in thought.  "Hm," he said finally, before turning away from Legolas.  He glanced at the board game.  Aragorn was winning, so the King of Rohan deftly and shamelessly picked up one of the sleeping Gondorian's game pieces and put it elsewhere.

      "You cheat!" Legolas exclaimed under his breath with a surprised chuckle.

      "But you live," Eomer pointed out, "Trust me, he won't mind losing.  When he wakes up and finds you up to your old tricks, he won't be minding _anything_ at all.  Believe me, he won't notice a thing."

      Legolas glanced at the sleeping _adan_, as if expecting a reaction.  Surely enough, the King of Gondor's eyes were open in narrow slits, and his lips were slightly curved in a tight smile.

      Obliviously, Eomer stretched his arms over his head and rose to his feet.  "I shall go find a _real _bed."

      "I'm sorry for the trouble," Legolas said as he watched the King of Rohan coolly walk towards the door, "I really am, Eomer.  Sire.  Thank you.  Have a good sleep, my friend."

      "It will be my first one since we've met, I believe," Eomer said mildly, brows rising.

      "Fair of you to say so," Legolas smiled at him.  

      The King grinned back slyly and shut the door behind him as he said, almost absently, "Welcome back."  His tone was more uncertain, but far more earnest as he added, "_Mellon-nin_."

      Legolas chuckled and turned toward Aragorn, who was already reaching for the piece Eomer moved and restored it to its rightful place.  The King of Gondor looked thoughtfully upon his handiwork, as if he was pondering doing a similar trick.

      Instead of doing some form of mischief though, Elessar leaned comfortably back upon his chair and stared at Legolas.  The elf's eyes were shining.

      "You must be proud of yourself," Legolas teased, "to be able to demonstrate _such _restraint_._"

      "Victories are sweeter when played fairly," Aragorn said with a grin, "Most of the time.  How do you feel?"

      "I don't know," the elf confessed, "Embarrassed.  Does that make sense?"

      "No," Aragorn answered.

      "All of everyone's trouble for nothing," Legolas pointed out, making Aragorn laugh in surprise.

      "Are you apologizing for not dying, crazy elf?" he asked.

      Legolas smiled, hid his face behind his knees for a moment, "It's ridiculous, I know."

      They fell to a companionable silence.  Legolas looked up at Aragorn, and the _adan_ was staring at him with indulgent loving.

      "How much did you hear?" Legolas asked him wryly. 

      "Enough not to ask you any more questions," Aragorn replied, looking away from the elf, back to the board game pieces.

      "Mmhm," Legolas murmured skeptically, "You? Not asking questions?"

      "I was wondering if I should apologize," Aragorn told him seriously.

      "That's still a question," Legolas pointed out, but the _adan_ refused to be waylaid by humor.  

      "Legolas…" he said haltingly, not quite sure of what to say, "I'm thinking I should.  Or if I should stay away.  Or…" he laughed nervously, "Or if I should go try to find a way to live forever."

      "You don't have to do _anything_, Estel," Legolas told him with a smile, "Truly.  I was the one who needed to make changes.  _A situation remedied_, eh?"

      "It's just that," Aragorn argued, "I did not know how alone you were and…" he paused, watching Legolas' kind eyes before asking, "How much did _you_ hear?"

      "Enough not to ask you anymore questions," Legolas replied impishly, making the _adan_ smile at last.

      "No more doubts, Aragorn, all right?" Legolas beseeched him with an earnest expression on his face, "It's too late in your life, Estel, to be other than what you've always been to all of us."

      "A hopeful fool, I know," Aragorn sighed melodramatically.

      Legolas laughed.  "Among other things."

* * *

      He found himself alone during the evening, and he stood before the window of his room savoring the calming breezes of the Rohan night.  The moon was looming clearly and brightly above the country landscape, and Legolas reflected that Luna, though accompanied by the stars and the curious grey strands of evening clouds, seemed more solitary than the sun, whose loneliness hid behind the blinding flashes of its golden glare, encompassing everything and making them an extension of itself.

      Legolas smiled wistfully.  To live and to touch others in such a manner… To live and _be touched _by others in such a manner… Maybe no one was truly so alone.

THE END

May 5, 2004 

**SOME IMPORTANT NOTES:**

****

THANKS TO ALL WHO TOOK THE TIME TO READ!!! It's incredibly long, I know, kind of depressing but wow, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!!!

THANKS ESPECIALLY TO MY REVIEWERS: kourin lucrece, elessar*lover, MSL, sodalite, gollum's fish, as, grumpy, cotume, stoneage woman, xiad rusco, gozilla, kelsey, amthramiel, halandleg4ever, deana, miss attitude, platy, barbara kennedy, AM, LOTRfaith, tychen, dragonfly, sol 3 and silvertongue.

To cotume: haha, happy birthday to your sis then!!! :)

To stoneage woman: oh dear.  Get well soon!!!

to Kelsey: wow, haha, your last review made a plea to keep legolas alive for _everybody_, haha.  Oh well :) I hope you are relatively pleased with the ending :)

to deana: actually I almost didn't post today… I didn't feel quite as pleased with the ending (and if you read my afterword regarding the difficulties of revising the ending you'll know why).  But I remembered your request, haha! :)

to AM: I'm sorry!!! Are you still alive? :0

GUYS, please read the afterword in the next part if you can; it's long but it tells you where all the symbols are, what they mean, why they're there, where the title came from, where the characterizations came from, etc.  it might give you more appreciation of the effort, haha… here's a table of contents so you can check if you're interested or not:

**AFTERWORD: TABLE OF CONTENTS**

I. The Evolution of the Ending

A. The Original Ending

B. The Revised Ending

II. The Structure

III. The Style

IV. The Theme and Recurring Scenes

V. The Phenomena of the 'Torture Fic'

VI. Movie Gap Fillers

VII. The Affliction

VIII. The Cure

IX. The Characterization of Legolas

X. The Characterization of Eomer

XI. The Characterization of Aragorn

XII. The Aragorn-Legolas Dynamic

XIII. The Legolas-Eomer Dynamic

XIV. The Original Characters

      A. Avia

      B. Lenne

XV. The Rohan Setting

XVI. My Next Project


	21. Afterword

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Last Stand

Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer 

AFTERWORD

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

I. The Evolution of the Ending

A. The Original Ending

B. The Revised Ending

II. The Structure

III. The Style

IV. The Theme and Recurring Scenes

V. The Phenomena of the 'Torture Fic'

VI. Movie Gap Fillers

VII. The Affliction

VIII. The Cure

IX. The Characterization of Legolas

X. The Characterization of Eomer

XI. The Characterization of Aragorn

XII. The Aragorn-Legolas Dynamic

XIII. The Legolas-Eomer Dynamic

XIV. The Original Characters

      A. Avia

      B. Lenne

XV. The Rohan Setting

XVI. My Next Project

I. On THE EVOLUTION OF THE ENDING.  The title of the fic is "Last Stand."  It took me awhile to post this fic because I absolutely could not get a handle on what to call it.  It's called "Last Stand" because of these lines: 

_      Here in these plains of Rohan, the last battle of a war that spanned a lifetime was fought.  It twisted, and it turned, and it ended at last.  Here was his final stand.  It was a field of losses and victories.  When he died, I wondered if he considered it the former or the latter.  Either way, it ended at the last, and that in itself seemed a strange and profound relief._

      This is from Chapter 16, an excerpt of the letter Eomer was writing to Aragorn.  These lines were the namesake of the title because these were actually supposed to be the lines that concluded the ORIGINAL ENDING of this fic.

      THE ORIGINAL ENDING.  The fic was inspired by the acoustic version of Sting's "Fields of Gold."  Its first lines are: _You'll remember me when the west wind moves among the fields of barley.  You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold_.

      The way I write, I get inspired by scenes or dialogue that pop into my head and then I try to build a story around it.  So "Last Stand" began with a song-inspired quiet death scene in a golden field.  It's a fic that ironically began with an ending! 

      So this fic was supposed to end at around Chapter 17, in the fields of Rohan.  Aragorn was originally never supposed to know, and Legolas was supposed to die.  But of course, the muses had their way, and I find that my story also evolved with the review responses.  So to tychen, deana, LOTRfaith and Kelsey, haha, I hope you're happier with this revised ending :)

      Sting's "Fields of Gold" is just such a nice song, with a kind of lonely, folk, nostalgic feeling to it, kind of what I tried to convey.  I know it's too adult-contemporary for a lot of people, but well, that's where "Last Stand" came from so you may want to give it a listen if you have the chance :)

      THE REVISED ENDING.  You may have noticed that I did not bother to change the "tragedy" part of the genre.  This is in keeping with the idea that I conveyed in Chapter 18:

      "_You know you have a problem when you begin to find tragedy in survival, rather than in death."_

      To survive isn't always a triumph; his ultimate loneliness is still guaranteed even if he did find the heart to live.  That is why the story remains a tragedy even if it does end on a happier note than originally intended.

      The revised ending does raise a problem that I've not thought of before, though, until I started writing the last chapter and literally couldn't _stop_… how to end it? So Legolas lives.  But is it a scene that ends with Eomer, to whom the present timeline mostly belonged? Or does it end with Elessar, who is admittedly the closer friend? I tried the first, and it felt strange and _hanging_; unresolved with respect to Elessar (this ending would have concluded the fic with Eomer leaving the room in the last scene of chapter 20).  I tried the second and it almost seemed _unfair_ to Eomer (this would have ended at Chapter 20, "Among other things.").  The three of them together felt kind of… _silly_ for some reason.  So.  The story ends with Legolas alone… which is how _this_ fic will end and how _his_ life literally will unfold until the end of time.  But, well.  _It's all right_ to be alone for him now.

___

II. On THE STRUCTURE.  As I mentioned at the start, the structure is one big arc, and then it has little stories in between.  

      The memories serve several purposes: first, it is to establish a pattern of behavior for Legolas.  Secondly, I did not think it would be so easy to understand his grief if the things he was losing were not expounded upon; I felt a window to how greatly things mattered to him was necessary for his loneliness over losing them to be accessible to the audience. 

      This structure is incredibly difficult for me, because it's like each flashback is a different story.  It's like writing several stories in one big story.  This means I might be running out of plots to work with for awhile, haha.

      I wanted the structure to feel 'round' though, so past and present suddenly meet to form the final chapter, and to shape the future.  Chapter 20 is very special; you see here that events that were formerly in the 'present' timeline become memories too, and events from the past recur and become the 'present.'

___

III. On THE STYLE.  The style, in a very general sense was supposed to be 'the medium is the message.'  I wanted the readers of the fic to WANT Aragorn to come, to WANT him to save the day, just like the characters want him to.  The original ending did not make him into a shaper of events, he was just a memory.  I wanted to convey to the readers the desire to make him more than a memory, to share this desire with the characters of the fic.  But well, things took a different turn and this style stuck just until near the end.  He appeared and shaped the story.  I'm not particularly dissatisfied though :)

      The style is also very indulgent.  The aim is best embodied in this line from the Eomer scene in chapter 19:

      _The King watched the fields sway in waves that followed the force of the late afternoon breezes.  The fields were shamelessly golden beneath the light of the setting sun.  It was his favorite time of the day.  The afternoon would thereafter climax to its sharpest, most rebellious, rich amber, before it dimmed to various shades of red, ushering in the evening.  While each day generally ended this way, each was its own picture of beauty.  It was never the same, the way the clouds made patterns in the sky, the way the winds shifted.  It was a stark reminder of how each moment counted in a life._

      I wanted to pay attention to the smallest details; trembling hands, moist clothes, cackling fires.  It's to convey the importance that death suddenly gives to the most simple, most minute and seemingly irrelevant things.  I wanted the fic to feel intimate, so I tried to focus on the littlest details. 

      There are also some symbols.  The coming rain at the very start of the fic is a kind-of warning that a figurative storm is also brewing.  The taming of a horse was made analogous to the making of a friendship; notice how that wild animal was tamed the next time Legolas sees it and he and Eomer go out for a stroll.  The sunset of course, is visually arresting and also symbolic of things that end.  Then if you remember the board game pieces in chapter 20? At first it is randomly arranged; as if they've all been placed there haphazardly by the machinations of a fool who doesn't know how to play the game (_ahem_, that would be Lenne).  And then Legolas fingering the pieces hesitantly, as if wondering where to go, what moves to make.  And towards the end they're all much more sure.

___

IV. On THE THEME AND RECURRING SCENES.  The theme is, of course, healing.  Notice that practically all of the flashbacks had something to do with healing; we see this in chapters 2 and 3, in chapters 5,7,9,10,13, etc.  Either Legolas aids Aragorn or the other way around, whether it's physical or spiritual.  I thought there was an interesting irony in that all the memories involved healing and in the present he could not heal.  It's like, he cannot heal now because of all those other times he's healed before.  I found the dynamic kind of fun to work with.  

      A minor detail of an idea that recurred is also the 'cameo' of Eomer in the memories.  He appears in the very last memory, almost very trivial, almost insignificant.  It's supposed to feel like… well, you know those murder mysteries where the murderer appears at the start as a very minor character who just passes by and is forgotten along the length of the story until the truth is revealed and we realize just how important he was? The 'cameo' of Eomer in the memory is supposed to be similar to that, just as Aragorn's 'cameo' in the present timeline is also very important to the story.  Throughout the fic, the present timeline belonged to Eomer and the flashbacks belonged to Aragorn, right? But Eomer appears at the last flashback chapter and Aragorn appears at the last present chapter and these small appearances changed the outcome of the events.

      You may have also noticed that scenes often recur but with the characters switching places.  This is best seen in Chapter 20.  Legolas wants Aragorn to understand his predicament, so Chapter 20 kind of just switches their roles (it's a repeat of Chapter 13), like walking in someone else's shoes :) This is how Aragorn understands him.  This (and the note on the Structure abovementioned) is what made Chapter 20 the hardest one to make.

___

V. On THE PHENOMENA OF THE 'TORTURE FIC.'  The Fallen Hero archetype is pretty prevalent not only in the Lord of the Rings ffic fandom, but in practically all the fandoms I've visited.  One must wonder why it is that writers often 'hurt' their favorite characters and why the readers who share this favorite character get attracted to these stories.  I'm not sure why other people go for it, but I have reasons that seem sensible and I think may be shared by some people too.

      THE FALLEN HERO archetype always answers the question of how important a character really is to his friends and to the world.  I think it is a response to that ever plaguing question of the test of death.  Would your demise change anything? Would you be remembered? How much of an impact did you have upon the lives of others? 

      These 'torture fics' answer these questions, I think.  It magnifies the importance of a favorite character when the world is threatened by his loss.  I mean if you've ever seen those movies that tackle the idea of 'what if I've never been born?' it's kind of like that.  So there.  I suppose I just got into thinking about why this is so prevalent.

___

VI. On MOVIE GAP FILLERS.  Oh these are just a great weakness to me.  I adore movie gap-fillers because great as the films are, it is a story about an ensemble of characters that leaves much room for development (and imagination! :)).  My first LOTR fic was a movie gap-filler called "Battle—" a clip of which you've seen in "Last Stand."  The thing with "Battle" was that my creative side felt compelled to write it and at the same time, my obsessive compulsive side felt as if it was just _hanging _there; no definitive beginning, no definitive end.  When I was writing Chapter 15, I actually began with yet another version of a Helm's Deep gap-filler.  But I eventually decided to slip a clip of "Battle" instead, because I was dissatisfied with my other movie gap-filler.

___

VII. On THE AFFLICTION.  Ah, so here comes the confusing part.  Why did Legolas' wounds refused to heal again? Though I tried to explain it in Chapter 18, this note will tackle the short of it and the background of precisely why.

      So first, many years ago, Legolas' wounds refused to heal because of his grief over the deaths of those that he loved.  This time around, he hasn't lost his loves yet but he is dying of the grief borne from an anticipation of this loss.

      Aragorn, while hardly the focus of his life, was a magnification of his destiny.  Legolas won't die just because Aragorn will.  He's dying because the example of Aragorn reiterates the fact that he will be ultimately alone.

      That is the first reason for his sickness.  The second reason is the sudden lacking of purpose.  If you've ever read philosophical text regarding functionalized existence, you may be aware of the despair that is associated with suddenly realizing you no longer have a purpose (it's not a good thing, but it happens).  So in this case, although Legolas has long been aware of his lonely destiny, there was always something else to do that calls for his responsibility not to indulge in his unhappiness.  The end of the war also ends this duty.

      Lastly, the incident at the Black Gate became the turning point.  _These_ wounds in particular did not heal because they came at the moment of his realizations that at the face of all these looming truths, he really cannot do anything.  He is helpless.  As was mentioned in Chapter 19:

_      You do not lose them to an enemy.  You do not lose them to a sword.  You lose them to time.  You lose them to yourself, because you are made differently.  These arms have held many, these hands have buried more.  And there are others to come.  _

      So the long and the short of it is this: the affliction comes from the lack of purpose, lack of distractions, anticipation of ultimate loneliness and helplessness over the entire dire situation.

      I suppose the natural question would be why Arwen would not have it _yet_.  I'm not sure, haha.  In the movies, was she not leaving until she saw the vision of her son? She knew the harshness of the fate that awaited her, and she was leaving because the 'best case scenario' that Lord Elrond pointed out to her was still one fraught with loneliness.  But the idea of creating a life that would transcend hers gave her a purpose, I think.  And she returned.  I don't know though :)  

      So we know why they die of their broken hearts.  But why not escape it and just sail over the sea? I tried to answer this in chapter 12:

_      "Much as all of this pains me," said Legolas, "I cannot bear to leave.  Anywhere I go I would still be who I am.  From myself, there is no running.  Though it is comforting to presume they might have athelas for the soul in Valinor, I cannot believe I would emerge subdued and freed from these pains as still distinctly myself… I cannot divorce this from the entirety of my being."_

      So there.  Hardly perfect, I know.  Lots of questions… I get confused myself at times, haha.

___

VIII. On THE CURE.  So established fact: Legolas is destined to be alone.  He is destined to lose those that he loves.  This makes for a lethal tragedy.  But there is a cure.  If before, it was the loving of others that sustained him, this time, it is _his loving of others_ that keeps him alive.  Like the responsibilities called upon him by the war, to love others is also a vocation, a calling.  He learns not so much to desire to receive, but to desire to give.  He does not want to give others the pain he is surely to get from them.  

      The irony of this cure is this: Aragorn does not heal him because Aragorn is strong or powerful.  Aragorn inadvertently heals Legolas because the _adan_ is weak in his loneliness.  If you've ever read philosophical/political/theological text about 'bowing' to the needs of others not because they are stronger and we are forced to do so but because they are weaker and we are responsible for them, this is a manifestation of that.

___

IX. On LEGOLAS.  Obviously my most favorite character.  I've always depicted his loneliness, I know.  It's just that I find the situation to be so tragic, to be an immortal surrounded by mortals.  To watch others die.  I don't know, personally I would want to die before anyone else that I love.  I guess my works mirror that sentiment.

      Like all heroes, I wanted to give the formidable and seemingly invulnerable elf of the Fellowship a weakness.  You know what they say, about courage not really being without fear but facing these fears? I cannot conceive of a sympathetic character without fears and without weaknesses.  As was mentioned by Legolas in Chapter 12: 

      _It's theoretically embarrassing.  I hate weakness.  I despise needfulness.  But it is what it is.  All beings must face a challenge of some sort.  Our bodies have mastered the perils of this material Earth; it is only logical for our harsher battles to be set in some other place._

      His great challenge was elsewhere, in his heart.  So anyway, as always, I give him these weaknesses but I always always try to infuse a defiant strength to him.  He is ill, he is dying, but he is also dignified, very prideful.  There are a lot of pretensions, a lot of understatements.  I try to depict his sadness more subtly; more inside than outwardly expressed.  I'm not so much for tears.  He takes everything with some wry humor, it's almost morbid.  He appreciates the tragicomedy of the situation.  

      The word I would love to use regarding my characterization of Legolas is _defiant_.  I think the character is a staunch fighter.  Losing is incidental, but he always fights.   I hope it's not over the line.  I try to be as faithful to how he is generally perceived while adding my own spin.  I really hope it's not off because I work so hard to keep the characterization in line.

___

X. On EOMER.  I've been saying that I've been just desperate to write a fic on him since I saw "Return of the King."  The actor just created an incredibly formidable kind of manly-man that I found so intriguing.  His voice was gruff but his tones were addictive to me.  He had a stern countenance to him, a kind of weathered, hardy look.  His brows were often furrowed, his forehead wrinkled.  His eyes looked as if they've seen much in the world.  

      Compared to the Gondor folk, the Rohan men seemed to be less polished, almost 'rural' to me, very rugged.  The men are as different as Minas Tirith is to Edoras.  There was something almost exotically different about them, with that music that always accompanied Rohan scenes in "Two Towers."

      Eomer as he is portrayed here is an inspiration of that.  I wanted him to be hardy, with a bit of a rough edge but just so dignified and honorable.  A true warrior with a stern countenance but a loyal heart.  Though the wars have seen his tougher side, I think "Return of the King" shows him as slightly more disarmed, when he was telling Eowyn not to encourage Merry.

      Literally and figuratively, he _almost always_ had his armor on.  My characterization wanted to put some of those reservations _off_.  He was still cautious, yes, and gruff and not openly affectionate.  As a matter of fact, even when he knows of a friend's impending death, he is still very outwardly cool even when his mind is racing.  Notice he doesn't quite say goodbye, or doesn't really express regrets.  He just says "I'm displeased" and everything else is a thought, or like in scenes 14 and 16: in 14, he makes the decision to keep Legolas' secret after this log reflection but in chapter 16 he just says, 'I won't tell Elessar.'  Even at the end, when he discovers Legolas will not die, he's very casual but you kind of feel there's more going on inside those perceptive eyes.  He's kind of taciturn, but nice too.  Just… well as I mentioned above, not openly affectionate.

      But I just wanted to throw him curveballs, like dealing with the original character Lenne, and talking about his love life.  I thought it might be fun :) I hope this did not seem too off the wall either.  I just wanted to see how far I can take it.  I've been gambling with characterizations lately (like Haldir in "Escape") and I'm always so scared that I'm not being properly representative.

___

XI.  On ARAGORN.  I always say he's that dependable hard place, the eye of the storm, that one guy who has his head on straight when everything seems to go wrongly.  More than that hero focus, though, what I see and like of this incredibly strong character's depiction in a lot of fics is this insatiable spirit.  He is just so _alive_, and I always try to portray him thus.  I have a fixation for expounding on the idea of him as _Estel_, as Hope.  This is from Chapter 13:

      _~I thought I simply liked you, _mellon nin_,~__ he said quietly, comfortable that he would not be heard, ~but you do not know how much you mold my world.~   _

_      It was the truth; Aragorn was like a looking glass.  He changed how people viewed at things.  He is dead and things seem so bleak and impossible.  He is alive and there is just… _estel_, Legolas thought wryly.  _Just so.  Very aptly named.

      The thing is, I wanted to shake his foundation a little too.  More curveballs :) This we can see in Chapter 19.  A man could only be so wise… how can he teach that which he cannot know? Suddenly, this guy who has everything placed in careful perspective finds himself in a situation where he is at a loss.  The other curveball is this: for the first time, it is not his strength that tides them over the dire situation, it's his weakness.

So there.  I know Aragorn is much loved and I hope he is done a measure of justice in this fic.

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XII. On ARAGORN AND LEGOLAS.  This friendship is just an addictive theme to me.  I'm not quite sure why… I'll have to think about that :) I think what I did differently in "Last Stand" (vs. my other fics) is that this was a friendship that didn't immediately take off.  My other fics created extraordinary situations that quickened the lowering of boundaries, so to speak, whereas "Last Stand" creates circumstances that are closer to 'ordinary.'

      The friendship supposedly began when a seven-year-old boy inspired an elf to live.  They see each other almost two decades later to find many things have changed.  And naturally, they knew each other only for a little while a long while ago, so they weren't immediately comfortable.  Soon they became two leaders with great respect for each other.  And then they became friends.  So the development is more gradual this time.  But hopefully, no less meaningful :)

      I decided to focus on a particular idea regarding this friendship.  You know how some relationships are based on shared experiences, or mutual needs, or simply because two people enjoyed each other's company? This time I focused on a friendship borne of this:

      _~Remember I said to you years ago, that you seemed to be wherever I needed you to be?~ Estel asked him with a wistful expression on his face, ~That first time, I was seven and sick.  That second time, you halted what could have been a disastrous duel.  That third time you helped me bury my dead.  And that fourth time you helped save my people from a flood, and me from a uh…~ he smiled in embarrassment, ~a rather murderous tree branch.  And then I remember just last year, when I captured the creature Gollum in the Dead Marshes.  I passed through Mirkwood and your soldiers imprisoned me fearing I was some kind of a spy.  You were there too.  You're so seldom in your kingdom, I know, and you were there when I need you to be there.  And now here we both are.  _I'm_ seldom here at home too, but fate would have it that we are once again together and I am once again in need.  Are you by any chance getting sick of my face?~_

      The above is a line from Chapter 11, which is a mixture of needing, and shared experiences, and being amused, and also being constantly put together by their destinies.  

      This "you're there when I need you" theme is probably inspired by this thing I noticed in the films, about Aragorn seeing some sort of trouble and always exclaiming "Legolas!" and suddenly the elf is doing something to remedy the situation.  I guess I just wanted to set a big backgrounder for that.

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XIII.  On LEGOLAS AND EOMER.  Ok, I must admit.  There are two scenes that inspired me to try this dynamic.  In the "The Two Towers" we saw them on opposing ends and that was how they met.  And then in "Return of the King" after the battle at Pelannor Fields, Legolas and Eomer stood side by side and just looked so formidable together.  So I've long written Aragorn and Legolas stories, I wanted to see what I could do with the seemingly colder Eomer.  This is from Chapter 1:

_      …Here he was, of all places.  In Edoras.  And with Eomer.  Of all people.  The man, he reflected, was more than decent enough.  Eomer did not suffer fools gladly, and was an honorable and fearless warrior with considerable skill.  He was vastly intelligent, and wise beyond his years.  It is here that their similarities ended.  Legolas knew little of Eomer outside of being the staunchest of allies in a battle.  He couldn't say they were friends.  He couldn't recall if they ever shared a meal.  Or shared in laughter.  He did not dislike the King of Rohan, that was certain.  He just didn't particularly like him, and it was strange how life threw them together in this manner, at this time._

      I didn't want to depict them as fast friends because I kind of got the impression that they weren't.  Eomer always seemed suspicious, and Legolas could only court that suspicion because he isn't very open either.  So I wanted to see what I could do with that.  Each of their chapters together kind of build up to a friendship.

      The first chapter is just polite, civil wariness.  And then there is a friendlier atmosphere, because they are suddenly in an environment that is not a war.  Then the secret is discovered and there is anger.  Then there is understanding.  Then there is a giving kindness.  As the formation of the Legolas-Aragorn friendship throughout the memories build up, the same goes with Eomer and Legolas in the present timeline.

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XIV.  On the ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.

      AVIA.  Ah, yes.  The great ffic threat: the original female character.  I'm always afraid for OFC backlash.  That's why she's old, haha.  I've always slipped into my fics these wily, aging female characters.  I think it's because I have this strong female war survivor archetype in my head.  These beautiful faces with wise eyes and really, they are just clever and unfazed.  She's also in the story because she's like the more imposing version of the healer in Aragorn.  I wanted Legolas to miss Estel because of her contrast with him.

      LENNE.  As I said before, this is Eomer's curveball.  He is the foil to the King.  He is not as wise, and not dignified at all.  But he's like the side story to the big story already filled with little stories.  He's a character who grows up in the midst of everything.  His musing about servants, by the way, is an idea that I got from the film "Gosford Park."  When I put him in the story originally, he was more of an amusement, like a comic relief.  I guess it's really surprising to me too how he took on a life of his own and vastly changed the outcome of the story.  I guess I just couldn't resist the idea of this little man changing the world bit.

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XV.  On ROHAN.  I can say this fic was vastly influenced by the sights and sounds of Rohan in the films.  Those horse plains are so vast, yet the aura of the palace was just so intimate, far less austere than Minas Tirith.  There's just a great and interesting contrast between the wide open spaces and the closed, quiet rooms.  The geography is also just so varied and simply mind blowing and stunning.  Aside from these though, Rohan was made into the setting of the fic because during the War of the Ring, it was just a place of great turning points for characters.  I think it's just a land that has seen so much.  So that's why "Last Stand" makes Rohan its home.

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XVI.  On MY NEXT PROJECT.  Actually, I have no definite one yet, haha.  I often have works in process at the tail end of a fic; it's why I never vanish for too long between a concluded story and a new one.  Well this story just drained me.  Sometimes I had a hard time sitting down with it (until I figured out a happier ending some days ago).  I have several plots.  Much lighter, of course.  I'm thinking of returning to my action/adventure stuffs because those are the ones that I have the most fun with :) I'm like a little boy, haha.  The first plot goes back to the horror genre I tried out in "Ghost of Imladris" and (if I should ever get around to writing it) will be featuring Elrond's twin sons, Legolas, Aragorn and Haldir.  I might also venture into the realm of the legomance… (which I always say but I can't quite get a handle on the right kind of plot and likeable OFC).  I am also pondering an AU future fic which is the most concrete one so far: 

Summary: Legolas lives in 2004 as a policeman. The colleagues are starting to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead as he runs across Gandalf as a street prophet, a band of motorcyclists called the Roadhogs led by Emmett, gets treated by an E.R. doctor named Adrian… in short, the Fellowship and some friends are back in curious modern incarnations and a world-threatening peril is resurrected along with them.

      Now I know it can sound typical… after all, there are some basic fic archetypes that authors somehow end up doing at one time or another; I can think of a few off the top of my head: 1. the girl-lands-in-middle-earth-thing, 2. the slash fic, 3. the fellowship in the modern world thing, 4. the legomance, 5. the mary sue, 6. the movie gap filler.

      Well anyway, it's an irresistible concept so I'll try it out for now, I think, but no promises :) 

      But all these are pretty loose plots :) We'll see :) 

      THANKS EVERYONE!!!

      'TIL THE NEXT FIC!!!


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